A Musketeer's Duty
by Deana
Summary: Chapter 23: tag to S3E8, 'Prisoner of War'. No one realizes Aramis' condition after he's rescued from Grimaud. (Collection of episode tags, missing scenes, and one-shots!)
1. Missing scene to 'The Exiles'

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'The Exiles' missing scene  
by Deana  
As you know, I don't own anyone here, darn it!

In 'The Exiles', (season 1 episode 6) when Porthos and d'Artagnan went to create their diversion and Aramis tried to cross the bridge in front of the badguys holding the blankets with no baby inside, it was obvious that the baby could've only been left with one person: Athos! If the thought of that makes you laugh, then read on and you'll laugh even more!

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As the Musketeers watched Marie de Medici's men searching for Agnes and baby Henry, Athos suddenly noticed the barrels that they were hiding behind and opened one, taking a taste of the liquid that flowed out. "These barrels contain brandy," he said. "A rather good Armagnac, I believe."

Aramis looked at him. "Athos, now is not the time!" he said, shocked that he would think of drinking at a time like this.

Athos turned and gave him a look.

At once, his friend's idea dawned on him, and Aramis nodded. "Oh…I see." He watched as Porthos and d'Artagnan each took a barrel and walked off with it to create a diversion, before he turned to Athos. "Here."

Athos looked at him and frowned. "Here what?"

"Take the baby," Aramis said, trying to hand him over.

Athos stepped back as if his friend was trying to give him a flaming hot piece of metal.

Aramis frowned. "Take him!"

But Athos didn't. "Aramis, I don't think—" He stepped back again when his arms were suddenly filled with squirming infant, but he had nowhere to go when his back smacked into the cart.

"I have a plan," Aramis told him, quickly grabbing the baby's blankets. "Hold him until I get back!" With that, Aramis ran towards his horse.

Athos watched him go, before he suddenly felt something warm spreading down his jacket. He pulled the baby away from his chest, holding it under the arms to dangle in the air as more liquid dripped to the ground. "Aramis," he said. "I'm going to kill you."

The baby looked at him and squealed.

The End…of my missing scene. LOL


	2. Tag to 'Slight of Hand' Part 1

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 **Tag to 'Sleight of Hand'**  
by Deana

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Musketeers. Argh!

In 'Sleight of Hand', (season 1, episode 2) the badguys were throwing those old-fashioned grenades that were a ball of metal with a fuse that gets lit and when the fuses burn down, BOOM! So they attacked the king and queen with them in the street, and when Aramis saw a bomb that would kill the queen, he ran over to it and without hesitation, threw himself down on top of it to prevent it from killing her. It blew my mind. The bombs turned out to be duds; a distraction to keep the Musketeers occupied while the head badguy, Vadim, tried to steal the crown jewels from the palace. Later, when they found Vadim after going down a stone staircase, Aramis stayed more than halfway up the stairs, and a real bomb went off, knocking them all down. We only saw Athos and Porthos' unconscious bodies though, so this tag deals with the aftermath of both bombs! Enjoy!

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 _Aramis didn't think; he just ran. He barely heard the cries of, "Aramis! No!" and he didn't think of the implications of what he was about to do…he simply ran. Seconds later, he threw himself to the ground on top of a live bomb, thinking of everyone's lives but his own. As long as the Queen and his friends lived, that was what mattered._

 _Seconds later, in defiance to what had really happened, the bomb went off, and his body was filled with incredible pain and everything went black, with his friend's panicked cry echoing through the air…_

Aramis sat up in his bed, gasping. He winced and closed his eyes, wrapping an arm around his ribs, which were sending spikes of pain throughout his body. He couldn't hold back a groan, and never heard his door open.

Porthos stood in the doorway, blinking at the sight of Aramis half-sitting up in his bed in obvious pain. He hurried over and reached out to take his friend's arms. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis' eyes popped opened and he looked at his friend with surprise. "Porthos? What?" His face was pale.

Porthos sat on the bed and took hold of his friend, trying to push him back down flat. "What happened?" he asked, confused.

Aramis sighed, carefully, as his head hit the pillow. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Are you really gonna lie to me after I saw with my own eyes that something is wrong?" Porthos asked, trying to grab his friend's shirt to lift it up.

Aramis gave up and let him.

Porthos frowned at the bandage that was wrapped around his friend's torso. " _Please_ tell me you weren't stabbed or shot."

Aramis shook his head. "The bomb."

Porthos frowned for a second before he realized that Aramis meant the second bomb, not the first one. "The one that blasted us underground when we found Vadim?"

Aramis nodded. "I was still on the steps when it went off."

Porthos frowned. "Are you sayin' that the blast threw you down the stairs?"

Aramis shook his head. "Back _up_ them, since that's where I found myself when I woke up."

Porthos winced. "Anything broken?"

Aramis shook his head. "No."

Porthos gave him a look. "I'm not sure if I should believe that. You always downplay your own injuries." With that, he stood and headed for his friend's weapons, retrieving a knife and bringing it back.

"What are you doing?" Aramis asked.

"Havin' a look for myself," said Porthos. He pulled up the bandages as much as he could and sliced through them.

Aramis sighed, but winced at the pain that it caused. "It wasn't easy to wrap that around myself," he said.

"Then it's a good thing I'm here now," said Porthos, as he pushed the cloth off his friend. He winced at what he saw.

Aramis looked himself, to see that the purple bruises over his ribs had deepened with time.

"You're sure nothin' is broken?" Porthos asked, his hand hovering over the bruises, reluctant to touch them.

"Yes," Aramis said. "They're just bruised."

Porthos used one finger to press on the darkest spot.

Aramis' entire body flinched and he gasped. "That one…might be cracked," he said, his voice tight.

Porthos sighed.

Aramis tried to breathe slowly and evenly, fighting to not show his pain. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"It's not _that_ late," said Porthos. "I…couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

Porthos looked at him. "Why? You're askin' me 'why'? Did you forget what you did today, Aramis? You threw yourself on top of a bomb! A bomb that should've exploded and _killed_ you!"

"But it didn't," Aramis answered.

"But you didn't _know_ that it wouldn't!" Porthos said back. "You should've died today! You _would've_ died today if Vadim hadn't tricked us and used decoys!"

Aramis knew that he was right, and he wasn't as unaffected by it as he seemed to be to Porthos; his nightmare would attest to that.

Porthos sighed again. "Why did you do that? You scared me to death, Aramis!"

Aramis frowned; Porthos wasn't one to often admit to being scared. "I'm sorry. I had to."

Porthos shook his head. "No you didn't."

"I had to protect the Queen," Aramis told him. "And all of you."

Porthos shook his head again. "No, Aramis, don't _ever_ do somethin' like that for my sake. Don't."

"Wouldn't you do it to protect _me_?" Aramis replied.

Porthos put a hand over his eyes, and Aramis could see the struggle that his friend was dealing with. He reached over to put a hand on his friend's arm.

"Do you understand, Aramis," Porthos ground out between clenched teeth, not removing his hand from his face. "That I almost watched you get blown to pieces? Do you?"

"I'm sorry," Aramis repeated. "I didn't think of the effect that the sight would have on you. I didn't have time to think of _anything_!"

"Except for sacrificin' yourself for everyone else," Porthos said. "You had enough time to think of _that_."

"I had to, Porthos," Aramis said. "Does it make you feel better to know that I'm likewise shaken? I do not wish to die, you know that, but I would _rather_ die than let my friends be killed when I can do something to prevent it."

Porthos sighed again. He felt the same way.

Aramis smiled and started to sit up. "See, you feel the same—ahhh…"

Porthos looked at his friend and grabbed his arms, pulling him into a sitting position to make it easier for him.

Aramis winced, closing his eyes for a moment and wrapping an arm around his ribs when they protested his movement. "I'm fine," he said.

Porthos huffed out a laugh. "Sure ya are." He got off the bed and grabbed a chair and the roll of bandage that he spotted on the bedside table and brought them over, carefully rewrapping his friend's ribs before pushing him back to lie down. "Go back to sleep," he said, sitting in the chair that was now beside the bed.

Aramis took as deep a breath as he was able to, closing his eyes again as he felt sleep pulling at him despite the pain. "You're staying?"

Porthos was silent for a few seconds before replying. "Yeah. I'd rather see you alive than…not."

Aramis suddenly understood; Porthos had come to his room because he'd had a nightmare similar to his own. "All right. Goodnight, Porthos."

"G'night, Aramis…pleasant dreams."

End of Part 1  
Part 2 is chapter 17 in this collection!


	3. Tag to 'Through a Glass Darkly'

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 **Tag to 'Through a Glass, Darkly'**  
Season 2 episode 6  
By Deana

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Aramis felt ready to drop.

While d'Artagnan and Constance kissed at the bottom of the hill, Aramis couldn't help but smile. He knew how much d'Artagnan had been hurt when Constance had told him that she didn't love him—which had been an obvious lie—and he was happy to see Constance finally admit to their young friend how she truly felt.

"Are we just supposed to sit here while they carry on like that?" King Louis suddenly exclaimed, sounding understandably impatient, after what they'd all just been through. "I want to get back to the palace!"

"D'Artagnan!" Treville called.

Constance turned and realized that they were holding everyone up, and she blushed a little as she and d'Artagnan headed back up the hill.

Aramis broke his gaze away from them and looked for his horse, spotting it about twelve feet away. It had taken most of his remaining strength just to climb the steep hill; walking even one more step on his tired and aching body seemed almost impossible.

"You all right?" he suddenly heard.

Blinking, Aramis realized that Porthos had taken hold of his arm and was looking at him with a worried expression. "Of course," he answered, with a slight smile.

"You fell backwards through a fifth story window!" Porthos said.

"I only fell _four_ stories," Aramis told him. "The awning over the front entrance broke my fall."

"You could've broken your _neck_!" said Porthos, tugging him towards their horses. "How can you not be hurt?"

Aramis winced. "Minor injuries; mainly cuts from the glass. I'm fine."

"You look ready to drop, Aramis."

Aramis sighed; funny that Porthos would say exactly how he really felt. "I'm fine," he repeated. Suddenly, they'd reached the horses, and he realized that Porthos had kept the grip on his arm the entire time. Sighing inwardly, Aramis tried to draw on some extra strength and managed to painfully pull himself into the saddle.

Porthos watched him, not missing the winces and the way his friend's face had paled. He said nothing though, not wanting to damage Aramis' pride in front of everyone else.

A moment later, d'Artagnan was mounted, Constance was in the carriage, and the procession started its ride back to the palace. The trip seemed much longer than it should've been to Aramis; every step of the horse seemed to jolt every injury that he'd sustained in the fall. His head was pounding, his right leg had a sharp pain in it, his back was aching terribly from landing on it after the fall, and his many cuts stung. Climbing the outside wall of the building was an extremely unwise thing to do immediately after having regained consciousness, but he would do it again, to save the Queen and his son.

The Queen. His son.

Aramis blinked, finding that his mind had drifted off. He turned around to look towards the carriage, and saw King Louis still holding the baby, obviously unwilling to let it go after Marmion had almost killed him.

Queen Anne was looking straight at Aramis.

Aramis blinked again and quickly turned around lest someone see them and think it strange. He was startled when a hand touched his arm and a voice suddenly broke into his thoughts.

"Aramis? Are you in there?"

Aramis blinked at the sight of Porthos staring at him as he rode on his left. "What?" he said.

Porthos was frowning with concern. "You were somewhere else, looked like. Are you sure you're all right?"

Athos and d'Artagnan were staring at Aramis too, waiting for his answer.

"I'm…" Aramis stopped himself from saying 'fine' and thought of something that his friends would accept. "Tired."

"We're almost back," said Athos.

Aramis looked ahead and saw that his friend was right. He was very relieved, wanting nothing more than to lie down.

Soon, they'd arrived at the palace and Aramis inwardly groaned, realizing that they were probably going to have to stand at attention and listen to the king rant for an hour or two, but Louis had been very traumatized by the way that Marmion had mentally tormented him and headed into the palace without a word.

Once it was apparent that the Musketeers could leave, they did. Aramis was just glad that he hadn't dismounted, because he wasn't sure if he could've gotten back onto the horse again.

A few minutes later, they were back at the garrison, and Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were dismounted before Aramis even started to move. He painfully swung his leg over the horse and slowly stepped down, not surprised at all when he felt Porthos' hand grab his arm again. It was a good thing, for his legs wobbled and he had to keep hold of the horse to stay upright.

A hand grabbed his other arm, and Aramis looked into the concerned face of Athos.

"Do you require a physician?" Athos asked.

Aramis tiredly sighed. "No."

"Are you sure?" d'Artagnan asked. "You don't look well."

"I'm sure," Aramis told them. "I think my main problem is the shock of the fall. I'll be fine."

"After some stitches," Porthos said, suddenly catching the sight of blood on the back of Aramis' pant leg.

Aramis twisted his head back to see, and realized why his leg was hurting so much.

"Get him inside," said Treville. "I'll send for a doctor."

"No," Aramis said. "I don't need one."

Aramis was an enigma; he was the Musketeers' unofficial medic, yet when he needed a doctor himself, he always refused.

"If we come across something we can't handle, we'll inform you," Athos told Treville.

Treville sighed, but accepted his words with a nod.

Porthos steered Aramis over to the stairs and helped him climb them, which was a slow and painful process. Aramis wondered if the glass that had obviously cut his leg was still in there. Soon, they were in his room, and Porthos sat him in a chair rather than get blood on his bed.

Aramis sighed with relief to be sitting again, and made no protest when Porthos started to remove his belt and the sash around his waist.

"Your hair is full of glass," d'Artagnan suddenly said.

"Not surprising," Aramis replied. "I went backwards out a window, remember?"

Athos brought over a basin of water and a cloth, and used his gloved hand to carefully knock glass out of Aramis' hair. He found much of his brown locks matted with drying blood, and asked, "Are you concussed?"

"No," Aramis told him.

They were relieved to hear that.

"How did you get back into the building with no one seeing you?" d'Artagnan asked, as he assisted Athos in getting glass out of Aramis' hair.

Aramis was too tired to talk, and too tired to realize that he shouldn't really be _that_ tired. "I climbed it," he mumbled, nearly drifting off again.

"You what?" d'Artagnan was so surprised at his answer that he tugged too roughly on a piece of glass that he didn't realize was embedded in Aramis' scalp.

Aramis jumped with a gasp from the unexpected pain, which fully woke him.

D'Artagnan was mortified. "I'm sorry!" He grabbed a piece of cloth and pressed it over the now bleeding cut.

Aramis forced his body to relax, but it wasn't easy.

"Aramis," said Porthos. "Are you telling us that you climbed all the way up the side of that building?"

"Yes," Aramis said. "After I woke up." He winced, having not wanted them to know that he'd been knocked out.

Porthos sighed and shook his head as he removed the Musketeer pauldron from Aramis' shoulder and unlatched his jacket, though he wasn't surprised at all that Aramis would risk his life in performance of his duty.

D'Artagnan removed the cloth to find that the cut was shallow and had mostly stopped bleeding. He went around to stand next to Porthos so he could tend to the cuts on Aramis' face. "How did you manage to climb four stories like this?" he asked.

Aramis found his mind drifting away again as he felt Porthos start to pull his arms out of his jacket. "I have no idea," he mumbled, before again realizing that he was saying things that he didn't want to say. His head lolled away from Athos and d'Artagnan a little, and d'Artagnan put his hand on the side of Aramis' face, moving his head back to where it had been. "Stay with us," he said. "We're almost done."

Aramis sluggishly blinked his eyes open again at that.

Athos sighed. Aramis' increasing lethargy combined with the fact that he'd been knocked unconscious showed that he likely had a concussion after all, even if it was minor.

Porthos finished getting their injured friend out of his jacket, and he looked at Athos. "The bed?"

"One moment," Athos said. He went over to Aramis' dresser and retrieved his comb, which he brought back and ran through their friend's hair, making sure that all the glass was out of it. It was impossible to get it through some of the sections that were matted with blood, but washing it was out of the question at the moment, with Aramis half-conscious and a bleeding leg wound that still needed attention.

Once Athos was finished with the comb, he grabbed Aramis on one side and Porthos took the other, and they pulled him out of the chair and over to his bed.

Aramis stumbled along, wincing again at the pain from his leg. He gave a quiet moan that he was unable to prevent when they laid him down on his stomach.

Porthos quickly grabbed the slice in their friend's pants just above the back of his knee and ripped it open wider, immediately making a face. "Yeah, you're not gonna like this, Aramis."

"What?" Aramis mumbled.

"There's a piece of glass in here. A big piece."

A wave of faintness swept over Aramis, and he wasn't sure if it was from his head injury or Porthos' words—probably both—and it took a moment before he could answer. "How big?"

"Nearly two inches long," came Athos' voice.

Big, but not _too_ big, considering. "Does it move if you jostle it?" Aramis asked, fisting his hands in the blanket as he prepared for the pain.

D'Artagnan reached over and squeezed his shoulder, in an attempt to hold him down as much as to comfort him.

The pain in Aramis' leg suddenly increased, and Aramis sucked in a breath.

"Yes," someone answered him, but he wasn't even sure who said it. "It's loose."

Aramis was relieved at that. If the glass _hadn't_ moved, then he would've had a serious problem. "Pull it out, then," Aramis said.

Someone did, and Aramis couldn't stop the cry of pain that passed his lips. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to breathe through his nose, but failed, his lungs working too fast.

Porthos clamped a piece of cloth over the wound, looking over at Athos, who'd gone to retrieve Aramis' stitching supplies.

As Athos came back, he looked at Aramis' face, seeing how pale he was, eyes tightly closed. "If you would like to pass out, now would be the time," he said.

Aramis couldn't help but chuckle through his wince.

D'Artagnan tightened the hold on Aramis' shoulder, wincing himself as he watched Athos pour a generous amount of brandy onto a cloth before holding it over the wound.

A sensation like liquid fire spread through his leg, and Aramis barely had time to squawk before he passed out cold.

"Well," said Athos. "That will make this much easier."

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Sometime later, Aramis woke slowly, and heard someone groan. It took him a few seconds to realize that the sound had come from himself, and he blinked at the blurred shape that sat beside the bed.

"Aramis?" he heard. Slowly, the blur took on the shape of Captain Treville, who was looking at him with concern.

"Cap'n?" Aramis mumbled.

"I came to see how you were faring," Treville said.

Aramis blinked a few times, finding himself still lying on his stomach. His head was throbbing, as was his injured leg. He wasn't comfortable laying in that position and tried to shift, but moving caused the various pains in his body to flare and he winced.

A hand laid itself on his shoulder. "You shouldn't move." It was Athos.

"Oh," Aramis mumbled, feeling woozy.

"I was summoned to the palace by the Queen," Treville told them. "She explained everything to me, about what you did, Aramis."

Those words woke Aramis a little more and he blinked, finally focusing on Treville's face.

"She's more grateful than you can imagine," Treville said.

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment. _I know,_ he thought.

"I learned the rest of the story when I came here," Treville went on, indicating Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, who'd obviously told him everything that Aramis had said before he'd passed out. "I don't know many men who would've risked their lives to climb that building."

 _I had to,_ Aramis thought. _For my son._ For an instant, he was afraid that he'd said it aloud and a thrill of fear shot through him.

Treville saw Aramis' face suddenly get paler than it already was, and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Rest," he said. "You've more than earned it after your bravery today. You should be proud of yourself; the Queen could have no better protector."

"Thank you, Captain," Aramis managed to mumble. _The Queen,_ _and_ _my son_ , he thought, as he fell back to sleep.

The End


	4. It Wasn't Real

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 **It Wasn't Real  
** A Musketeers story by Deana

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Aramis' mind couldn't process what he was seeing; dead Musketeers littered the ground, motionless in the snow. The landscape had been beautifully white only a short time ago…but now it was stained red: the color of death. He stumbled past them, his vision wavering in a dizzying pattern as blood dripped down his face from a head wound that he didn't even remember receiving. None of the Musketeers were alive; he appeared to be the only one.

Suddenly, a sight that he didn't expect to see met his eyes; a body clothed in a familiar doublet stood out from the colors that most of the other Musketeers wore.

The breath caught in Aramis' throat, and a chill shot down his spine that had nothing to do with the winter cold. He stumbled closer and dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he reached out to turn the body over. It was exactly whom he feared: d'Artagnan, their youngest member, a boy who had claimed a place in each of their hearts so quickly. He had become a fine Musketeer, on his way to possibly becoming the greatest of them all.

But he was dead…a victim of the Savoy massacre.

 _No,_ Aramis thought. _D'Artagnan wasn't in Savoy! We didn't even know him yet!_ But yet, here he was: as dead as each of the others.

Aramis shook his head, not letting himself believe it. D'Artagnan wasn't there; it had to be someone else. He struggled to his feet and moved on, having no idea where he was even going. Something made him look at one of the other men, and he froze.

It was Athos, and he was staring right at him…until suddenly, he wasn't.

Aramis gave a cry of shock and dropped to his knees again, reaching out and grabbing his friend by the front of his doublet. "Athos!" he exclaimed. He'd just watched one of his dearest friends die.

Athos gave no reaction, sightless eyes seeing nothing.

Aramis squeezed his own eyes shut, lowering his head. His entire body was shaking with grief and cold. _But Athos wasn't here either!_ he said to himself.

"Aramis…"

Sucking in a breath, Aramis looked up to see another awful sight; Porthos was lying not far from them: wounded, but alive. Quickly, Aramis stood on trembling legs and hurried over to him. "Porthos?"

Porthos, face and body bloodied, gave him a pained grin. "That's me."

Aramis knelt beside him and started checking his injuries, but his hands were grabbed and he looked up.

Porthos was shaking his head. "Don't waste your time, Aramis. I'm a goner."

Aramis felt like someone was squeezing his heart in a vise. "No, Porthos! I can't lose you as well!"

Porthos just smiled at him. "You'll be all right, Aramis. You'll survive."

"No I won't!" Aramis exclaimed. "If you die, then all three of you will be gone! But none of you were with me in Savoy!"

Porthos reached out and grabbed Aramis' shoulder. "Goodbye, Aramis…until we meet again." With that, his eyes closed and his lungs stilled.

Aramis couldn't breathe; he was literally unable to draw in air. He collapsed over his closest friend, burying his face in his chest. _God, take me too,_ he thought. _Please, take me too…_

"Aramis! WAKE UP!"

With a loud gasp, Aramis startled awake, breathing as if he'd been running for his life. His eyes darted all around as he felt the cold and saw the snow…the only thing missing was the bodies. "Porthos!" he exclaimed, looking around wildly in the pre-dawn light. "Porthos!"

"I'm right here, Aramis! Calm down!"

Aramis was suddenly grabbed and pulled tightly against someone's body, where he leaned, shaking and gasping. "Porthos…Porthos…" he kept repeating.

"Shhh," Porthos said, as if soothing a child. "You're all right, Aramis." He tightened his grip around his friend.

Those words were too similar to his dream, and Aramis closed his eyes and held onto his friend tightly in panic. "Don't die!"

"No one is dying!" came d'Artagnan's voice.

Aramis suddenly realized that Athos and d'Artagnan were kneeling beside them, and he struggled to pull away from Porthos' hold so he could see them.

Athos and d'Artagnan stared at him, watching worriedly as Aramis continued to breathe too fast.

"It was a nightmare, Aramis," Athos said, his soft monotone sounding oddly soothing as he squeezed his arm in comfort. "It's over."

Aramis closed his eyes, his entire body still shaking.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" asked Porthos, dreading hearing it but willing to if it would help his friend.

"You were all there," Aramis told them, nearly unable to get the words out. "In Savoy. You all died."

"We _weren't_ there," said Athos.

"I know," Aramis said, still shaking. "But it was so _real_. D'Artagnan was dead. Athos…you died the instant I looked at you, and Porthos…" Aramis sniffed. "Porthos…you died a minute after I found you. 'Until we meet again' were your last words…"

Porthos squeezed his friend's arms. "It wasn't real. We're all here, alive."

Aramis sighed. "It _felt_ so real…there was blood everywhere, in the snow…" One of his worst fears was the possibility of watching one of them die someday…

Porthos shook his head. "It may've _felt_ real, but it wasn't. Look around; we're all alive and well. You had this nightmare because we're campin' in the cold."

Aramis sighed and closed his eyes. No one spoke, giving him a chance to collect himself.

"Feelin' better?" Porthos asked a few minutes later.

Aramis sighed. "A little." He was still shaking, and felt like he'd never stop.

"Wanna lie back down?"

Aramis shook his head. "No." There was no way he was going back to sleep after that. He was holding onto Porthos' left arm, as if reassuring himself that his friend was really alive, and he unconsciously tightened his grip.

"All right," said Porthos, patting his hand. He hadn't been assigned to the mission in Savoy, but he knew that if he had, things would've turned out differently. He was sure that he would've survived the ambush, and when Marsac abandoned Aramis wounded and alone amongst the carnage, Porthos would've taken care of him and Aramis wouldn't have come so close to death. He felt guilty for not being there when Aramis needed him, and if he had to sit there all day to comfort his friend now, he would.

Dawn broke over the horizon, and suddenly, a steaming cup of coffee was beside Aramis' face. He opened his eyes, to see d'Artagnan's sympathetic smile. "Thank you," he said. He reached out to take it, shivering in the cold air as he took a sip. He could feel everyone's eyes on him.

Food was passed around but Aramis declined, still too shaken from his awful nightmare to have any kind of appetite. He saw his friends' looks of concern, but they didn't try to force him to eat. When Aramis felt that he could actually stand up without his legs shaking _too_ much, he did and headed over to his horse.

"We don't have to leave yet," said Athos. "We can stay the day."

They really couldn't, and Aramis knew that. Treville was awaiting their return, and Aramis only wanted one thing: to go home. He gave Athos an appreciative smile, but shook his head. "I'd like to go."

Athos nodded. "Then we shall." He stood to ready his own horse.

Not long after, they were mounted and heading back towards Paris. Aramis was tired and couldn't get the awful nightmare out of his head, and he shivered excessively; not just from the cold, but partly from his memories of Savoy and the awful nightmare.

The other three Musketeers surrounded him as they rode, talking about whatever they could think of to distract him from his troubled thoughts. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

When they finally rode into the garrison that afternoon, such relief overwhelmed Aramis that it was obvious to everyone.

Treville was nearby and walked over to them as they dismounted. He frowned as he watched Aramis. "Is something wrong?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Aramis looked at him and sighed. Before he could say anything, Porthos wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "No," Aramis said, with a slight smile. "They aren't ghosts, thank God."

THE END


	5. Bailamos

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 **Bailamos**  
A Musketeer story by Deana  
Takes place _before_ season 1 episode 9; 'Knight Takes Queen'.

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"I would like to see a dance!"

Everyone looked at King Louis, who had clearly had too much to drink. It was his birthday, and he was obviously enjoying it immensely. The festivities had been going on all night, and it didn't look like it would be ending anytime soon.

"I want to see something different," Louis said. "Anne!" he called. "Show us a Spanish dance!"

Queen Anne, who was speaking to some of the guests, looked at the king with shock at the request.

"You'll need a partner," Louis continued. He looked around the room before his eyes settled on the four musketeers. "Aramis! You're Spanish!"

Aramis was surprised to have been singled out. "Half Spanish, Your Highness," he said. "My father was French."

"Aha. You can dance, yes?" Louis asked. Without waiting for an answer, he beckoned to him. "Come come, the queen needs you, and it's your duty to serve her!"

Aramis looked at the other three musketeers with shock, and found his expression mirrored on their faces.

Treville walked over to the king, and said to him quietly, "Sire, what you're asking is not appropriate—"

"Nonsense," Louis said, cutting him off. "I give you permission, Aramis, to dance with the queen!" he loudly exclaimed. "And everyone here heard me say that!" He drained his cup of wine before handing it to Treville and walking over to Aramis, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to the front of the room. "Come, Anne!"

The queen obeyed, slowly walking over to meet them.

King Louis reached for the gun on Aramis' belt. "You can't dance with your weapons!" he said.

Treville quickly took the gun from the king lest he accidentally fire it in his drunken state, and held out his hand for Aramis' weapons belt.

Aramis removed it and his hat and handed them over, hesitating before taking off his jacket as well, as its length would only get in his way.

King Louis waited until they were ready before he looked at the musicians. "Play something Spanish!" he shouted.

As the music began, Aramis and Queen Anne finally looked at each other, each of them dismayed to hear that there was only one dance that would fit the music; the flamenco. They both desperately hoped that the king wouldn't regain his senses before the dance was finished.

Treville poured the king another cup of wine and shoved it into his hand, trying to get him more drunk with the hope that the king would forget that this ever happened.

Aramis and Queen Anne began the dance, and everyone quickly became enthralled.

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan stared in shock at their friend as he transformed himself from a musketeer into a dancer. Aramis wasn't amateur by any means, and they were stunned to only now learn of this unexpected talent.

Aramis and Anne both tried to make the dance less sensual than it was supposed to be, but it grew difficult to remember that as they were drawn deeper and deeper into it.

Treville kept refilling Louis' goblet.

Most of the people in the room had never seen a Spanish dance—including the other musketeers. It was fascinating to watch as Aramis twirled Anne this way and that, and then left her to dance alone while he circled her, clapping out a beat with his hands or his boots. Once he'd completed the circle, he grabbed her hand and pulled her close to his body before dipping her backwards towards the ground and pulling her back up again, spinning her around in a circle.

Porthos wondered how they weren't getting dizzy.

Eventually, the music started to come to a close, and on the last beat, Aramis dipped Anne again and held her there.

Total silence reigned for a few seconds, until the king started to clap wildly. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed.

Everyone else joined in the clapping, and Aramis, breathing heavily, pulled Anne upright and they moved away from each other.

Louis rushed over to them. "That was marvelous! I had no idea that Spanish dancing was so fun!" He looked at Aramis. "Can you teach _me_ how to do that?"

Aramis blinked. The king of France, asking to learn a Spanish dance?

Treville stepped in before Aramis had to answer. "Your highness, would you like some more wine?"

"Oh yes, Treville, please!"

Aramis slinked away, glancing at Anne, whose hair was in complete disarray.

Anne caught his eye and smiled slightly, letting him know how much she had enjoyed it.

Aramis didn't get a chance to react, as Porthos suddenly grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him over to the others. "Aramis, you could never surprise me more than you did tonight!" he exclaimed.

"You can say _that_ again," said d'Artagnan. "That was amazing, Aramis!"

"I must concur," said Athos. "We did not expect what we just saw."

Aramis took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead and face. "I haven't done that in a long time," he said. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Queen Anne was gone, probably to freshen herself up.

"Don't be surprised if the king asks you to do it again," said Athos. "The next time he is drunk."

"Do you realize how dangerous that was?!" Porthos whispered. "Dancing with the queen like that, in front of the king!"

"He commanded me to!" said Aramis. "You heard him!"

"Are all Spanish dances so…clingy?" d'Artagnan asked.

"That one is," said Aramis. "And since that was the dance that the musicians played, we didn't have much of a choice!" He took a deep breath. "We toned it down."

" _That_ was 'toned down'?" Athos asked, incredulous.

Aramis sighed.

"Well, despite the situation, I have to compliment you, Aramis," said d'Artagnan, picking up two goblets of wine and handing one to him. "You are a magnificent dancer." He toasted his friend and took a drink, thinking to how Aramis was their best marksman, an excellent medic, fluent in four languages, and now a dancer. "Is there anything you _can't_ do? What other hidden talents do you have?"

Aramis smiled and drank his wine.

"A talent for getting into trouble," a voice cut in. It was Treville. "Louis just told me that he wants you and the queen to do that dance at every ball and event."

Aramis choked on his wine, and Porthos started slapping his back.

"We must never allow the king to get drunk ever again," Athos deadpanned.

Treville sighed and handed Aramis his jacket and weapons before herding him towards the door. "Go back to the garrison," he said, plopping Aramis' hat onto his head. "Hopefully tomorrow, Louis will have forgotten all about this."

As the musketeers left the palace, they could only hope and pray that he would.

THE END


	6. St Aramis

.

 **St. Aramis**  
A Musketeers story by Deana

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"Ahhh!" Aramis exclaimed. "It's broken, d'Artagnan! Don't let it touch the ground!"

"I'm sorry!" d'Artagnan exclaimed back. He sighed as he held onto Aramis, who was panting from excruciating pain. He gave him a moment to collect himself before saying, "Come on. If I was as strong as Porthos I'd carry you, but I'm not. We're almost at the garrison."

A groan came from his friend, who was clutching d'Artagnan desperately to keep himself upright from where they stood.

The sight of Aramis' suffering caused an actual pain of sympathy in d'Artagnan's stomach. He tightened his grip around Aramis and they resumed their hobble.

What seemed an eternity later, they finally reached the garrison and d'Artagnan halted them just inside the gate, leaning Aramis against it and holding him there. "Porthos!" he shouted.

Several musketeers ran towards them when they saw that Aramis was injured, but Porthos reached them first, despite being further away. He scooped Aramis up into his arms as if he weighed nothing and quickly brought him towards the stairs.

Treville sent someone for the doctor and they got Aramis to his room and into a chair, so they could remove his weapons and jacket.

"Don't touch it!" Aramis exclaimed, when Porthos knelt before him to remove his boots.

"Which one is it?!" Porthos exclaimed, nervously.

"The right," d'Artagnan told him.

"What happened?" Treville asked, unbuckling the musketeer pauldron from Aramis' shoulder.

"He broke his ankle," d'Artagnan answered.

"Obviously," said Athos, removing their friend's weapons belt. "But how?"

"He...had an altercation with a thief," d'Artagnan told them.

Before they had a chance to answer that, the doctor came in, and the next hour was spent setting and splinting Aramis' ankle. It was extremely painful for the injured musketeer, and by the time the doctor was finished, Aramis was left in a drowsy, drunken state from something that he'd been forced to drink.

The doctor eventually left, telling them that Aramis was not to get out of bed. He left more of the drug for Aramis to drink when he needed it, and left.

Afterwards, the other three sat around Aramis' bed while their friend dozed, still under the influence of the medicine.

"D'Artagnan?" Porthos suddenly said.

"Yes?"

"What _really_ happened?"

D'Artagnan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"There's somethin' more to this," Porthos said. He looked at Athos. "You agree?"

Athos nodded. "I do."

"This thief. He got away?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan nodded.

Porthos waited. "And? What did he steal?"

D'Artagnan thought for a second. "Food."

Porthos and Athos exchanged glances. "Oh...so you _let_ him get away, then?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "Yes. We couldn't arrest her for being hungry." He realized his mistake instantly and winced.

"Her?" said Porthos. "A _woman_ broke Aramis' ankle?!"

"No," said d'Artagnan. "Not _really_..."

Before they could ask what on earth he was talking about, Aramis groaned.

Porthos put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, you're okay."

"NoI'mnot," Aramis slurred. He blinked his eyes open, and they could see that the pupils of his eyes were too large. They all wondered what the drug was that the doctor had given him, as Aramis closed his eyes again and slurred, "Jus' tell 'em."

D'Artagnan looked at them, surprised that Aramis had apparently heard some of their conversation.

"I 'preciate you protectin' my honor," Aramis continued, eyes still closed. "But you can tell 'em... _jus'_ them...no one else…"

D'Artagnan sighed. "It was a homeless little girl...she grabbed some apples from one of the vendors and came running around the corner so fast that she crashed into Aramis and knocked him down. He landed on his right leg." He shook his head.

"Was hungry," Aramis mumbled. "Not 'er fault."

Porthos still had a hand on Aramis' shoulder, and he squeezed it fondly. "No wonder you're religious, Aramis. You're a saint disguised as a musketeer."

Aramis smiled slightly and drifted off again thanks to the drug.

"Not a word to anyone else," d'Artagnan told them, knowing that he didn't really need to say it. Neither Athos nor Porthos would want anyone to know that a child had broken their ankle if it was one of _them._

Porthos shook his head. "Never."

"Never," Athos agreed.

And in an alley a mile away sat a little girl, happily eating three apples.

THE END


	7. Missing scene to 'Friends and Enemies'

.

Missing scene for season 1, episode 1, 'Friends and Enemies'  
By Deana

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 _She left me hanging._

Aramis gave an inward hysterical laugh at that. Adele literally had left him hanging out her window...her _second story_ window. What was he supposed to do now? How on earth would he get down without breaking something? If he was lucky, it would be just one leg. If he was _unlucky_ , it would be both of them. If he were _really_ unlucky, it would be his neck.

A flash of panic filled Aramis. He was hanging by his hands from a second story window with no way to get down!

Sudden laughter filled the air, and for a second, he thought that Cardinal Richelieu had spotted him and he was doomed. When he realized that it was actually Porthos, relief filled him enough to make him laugh too. His friends had come to the rescue!

"How do you expect to get down from there?" Athos suddenly shouted.

Aramis risked looking down, and saw how small they looked from his vantage point. He was wrong; his friends couldn't help him get down. "You tell ME!" he exclaimed.

Athos and Porthos heard the fear in his voice, and they quickly looked around for anything they could use.

"Just hang on, Aramis!" Porthos called out, standing beneath him in case he fell.

"Easy for _you_ to say!" Aramis shot back.

Athos spotted a cart full of hay down the road and quickly ran over to it, grabbing it and pushing it towards his friends.

"Hey!" its owner shouted.

"I'll bring it right back!" Athos exclaimed.

Pain was spreading through Aramis' shoulders and arms from dangling for so long. "I can't hold on anymore!" he called down.

"Let go!" Porthos said, bracing the cart so it wouldn't roll away on the sloped road.

"What?!" Aramis looked down, but moving proved to be his undoing when his hands slipped off the windowsill and he fell with a shocked cry.

Porthos and Athos gasped despite themselves, even though their friend landed safely in the hay.

Aramis just laid there for a few seconds, catching his breath as relief overcame him. "Ow," he said.

"Are you all right?" Porthos nervously asked, still holding the cart steady.

"I…think I found the needle in the haystack," Aramis answered.

Athos rolled his eyes. "Come down from there."

Aramis slowly sat up, not realizing that hay was sticking out of his hair. Rolling slightly onto one side, he saw that the hay pile he was laying on was too tall for him to jump off.

Athos moved closer to the cart to offer assistance.

Aramis carefully tried to stand up in the hay which kept shifting under his boots. There was nothing really for him to hold onto unless he got himself in between the hay and the wood of the cart, and it was a dangerous trip down.

"Easy does it!" Porthos warned, as the cart shifted a little because of Aramis' movement.

Aramis somehow succeeded and started to climb over the side with arms that felt as heavy as a horse after holding all of his weight on that windowsill.

Athos reached up a hand once Aramis was close enough, and didn't expect Aramis to step down onto his shoulder. Taken by surprise, he pulled his hand back to grip his friend's leg so he wouldn't fall, not realizing that Aramis had reached down to take his hand.

Unbalanced, Aramis fell to the ground and landed flat on his back.

Porthos let go of the cart, not caring if it rolled away now. He dashed to his friend's side and knelt. "Aramis!"

Aramis' eyes were squeezed shut and he was gasping, the breath having been painfully knocked out of his lungs by the impact. "Ow," he said again.

Athos was mortified. "Are you all right?" he asked, even though it was a ridiculous question.

Aramis opened his eyes and blinked up at the window that he'd just been hanging from before looking at his friends. "Well…" He coughed. "At least…I'm _down_."

"In more ways than one," said Porthos. "But now, are you able to get _up_?" he asked, picking hay out of Aramis' hair.

Aramis took a few more breaths before holding out his slightly-shaking hands so his two friends could pull him to his feet. Once upright, Aramis winced and stepped back on wobbly legs to lean on the hay cart, but was surprised to find that it was no longer there.

Someone's shouting suddenly filled their ears, and all three of them turned to see the cart rolling down the street, with its owner chasing after it.

"Right; time to go!" said Porthos, grabbing Aramis' weapons from the ground.

"Time to stop seeing _Adele_ ," Athos told Aramis. "The _cardinal's mistress_. How many times do we have to tell you?! What if we hadn't come along just now?"

Aramis sighed as his two friends grabbed his arms and marched him towards the garrison. He had a feeling this was going to be an unpleasant conversation.

THE END


	8. Secret Admirer

.

 **Secret Admirer**  
A Musketeers story by Deana  
Takes place after season 2, episode 1.

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Aramis sighed, from where he reclined on his bed.

The past two weeks had been hard for him after finding out that Adele was dead. Aramis couldn't stop thinking of what he'd told Athos; that every woman he loved died. Of course, that wasn't the _literal_ truth, but he couldn't help but tell himself that he was doomed when it came to emotions of the heart.

As Aramis sat wallowing in his depression, he was surprised to see a piece of parchment suddenly appear under his door. Blinking in shock, he just stared at it for a few seconds as if questioning his sanity, before he got up and walked over to it.

 _'Aramis'_ it said. He quickly opened it and found a short poem:

 _Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
There's no one that I'd  
Rather kiss than you_

Aramis was puzzled. Who had left it? There was no signature. Quickly, he dashed over to the window and looked out, catching a glimpse of a woman leaving the garrison. He looked towards the outside table and saw that all three of his friends were there eating breakfast.

Five minutes later, Aramis was dressed, and he headed outside and down the stairs.

"Finally," Porthos said. "I was about to send a search party."

Aramis sat and accepted the cup that Athos handed to him, clutching the parchment in his other hand. "Was that a woman I just saw leaving?" he asked as he drank.

"It was Constance," d'Artagnan told him.

Aramis inhaled his drink and started to choke.

"Whoa," said Porthos, pounding him on the back. "You all right?"

Aramis choked and gasped a wheezing breath. "I'm…fine…" he croaked, before coughing again.

"What's that?" d'Artagnan asked, reaching out for the paper.

"Nothing!" Aramis said, sticking it inside a pocket. "Just…a list…ran out…of apples." He choked again.

Everyone knew that Aramis kept a bowl of fruit in his room, so they saw nothing odd in his statement.

The day progressed normally for the musketeers, who patrolled the marketplace. Aramis bought his apples, but when he took them out of their sack that evening, he found something else inside…

Another folded piece of paper with ' _Aramis_ ' clearly written in perfect script.

"What?!" Aramis said to himself, wondering how it had gotten in there. He opened it and wasn't surprised to find another poem.

 _Poppies are orange  
Daisies are white  
If another girl kisses you  
She and I will fight_

Aramis scrubbed a hand over his face. It couldn't really be from Constance, could it? But she was in love with d'Artagnan! He'd never _seen_ a couple so in love. No, whoever the woman was who had left the first note under his door had obviously hidden herself, and Constance being there at the same time _had_ to be a coincidence.

A wave of relief swept through Aramis and he took out the first note and read them both again, wondering who on earth was admiring him from afar. He certainly wasn't a stranger to the fact that women found him handsome.

Taking one of the apples, he went to bed and read a little before he went to sleep…and for the first time in two weeks, he didn't go to sleep sad.

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The next morning, Aramis woke to find that another note had been slipped under his door.

 _Dogwoods are pink  
Daffodils are yellow  
I really think  
That you're a handsome fellow_

Aramis smiled and put all three notes into his pocket before going downstairs.

"Mornin'," Porthos said.

"Morning," Aramis replied. He sat down and took out the notes.

"What are those?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Love letters," Aramis told him. He put them down and let each of them take one.

"Where did you find them?" Athos asked.

"Two of them under my door, and one in my sack of apples," Aramis answered.

"I wonder who did it?" d'Artagnan said. "I'll ask Constance if she saw any women in the garrison."

Aramis stared at him. "Constance?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "She was here this morning again."

Aramis blinked. "Oh." He raised his cup with a slightly-shaking hand.

Porthos noticed. "You all right?" he asked, for the second morning in a row.

"Umm hmm," Aramis answered, trying not to choke that time.

Their duties for the day were training new recruits, and when Aramis went back to his room that night, he was shocked to find another note…and this one was sitting on his pillow.

 _Grass is green  
Trees are brown  
If I can't be your queen  
I will frown_

The first thought that Aramis had was that Constance had not been in the garrison all day. He was immensely relieved, but confused again as he tried to figure out who was leaving the notes. He took them all to bed with him, and read them several times as he tried to figure it out.

Aramis fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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The next morning, the first thing Aramis did was look at the floor in front of his door, and there it lay; another note.

 _Jewelry is gold  
Horses are black  
I know that I'm bold  
Please don't give me a smack_

That one made Aramis grin. His secret admirer had a sense of humor.

"Another note?" Porthos asked, as Aramis sat at the table outside.

"Indeed," Aramis told him, handing it out.

Porthos read it and chuckled. "She's a funny one."

"That's what people say," came another voice.

Aramis looked up to see Constance approaching their table. She placed a piece of parchment in front of him, and he looked at it before looking back up at her in shock.

It read, in the same script, ' _Aramis_ '.

"Well?" she said.

Aramis looked at each of the others first before obeying, terrified of what he would find inside.

 _You have so much wit  
You aren't dumb as a brick  
You've got to admit  
That this was quite a trick_

Aramis read it twice before he looked up and found everyone smiling.

"Happy St. Valentine's Day, Aramis," Constance said, before kissing him on the cheek.

Aramis realized that his friends had all planned this to break his depression, and for the first time in two weeks, he laughed.

THE END


	9. All I Can Do

.

 **All I Can Do  
** A Musketeers story by Deana

This was inspired by the 80's Christian song 'All I Can Do (is Praise Him)' by Greg X. I was listening to my old tape as I drove to work, and from the very first line, it made me think of Aramis in the war against Spain.

Song lyrics are in italics.

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 _I am surrounded, there's no way out I must fight  
A nasty situation...  
_

Aramis looked ahead at the horde of enemy soldiers heading towards them. He clutched his sword in one hand and his pistol in the other, before looking to his left at Porthos, who gave him an encouraging nod. He looked to Athos on his right and received a nod from him as well. D'Artagnan was intently focused on the approaching army.

 _On the horizon, reinforcements coming in sight_  
 _To face the confrontation…_

The Spanish army gave a battle cry and started to run. Aramis took a deep breath, and quoted aloud, "When you go out to battle against your enemies, do not be afraid of them, for the Lord your God is with you."

 _And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
I will fear no evil…_

The battle was long and hard, and Aramis fought until he felt he would pass out from exhaustion.

 _I know by His power, He will give me that rest which passes understanding…_

An enemy soldier came at Aramis from behind and violently pushed him to the ground. Aramis landed hard, and directly before his face was a pistol…an _unfired_ pistol. He grabbed it, turned onto his back, and shot the man who stood over him with his sword poised to strike.

The man fell.

 _All I have to do, for Him to pull me through...  
Stand on the Word and He'll fight the battle…_

Finally, it was over. Aramis stood unsteadily; breathing heavily as he frantically looked around for his friends. Dead men lay all around, and he suddenly spotted Porthos heading towards him with a victorious smile. Athos and d'Artagnan approached together, and when Aramis saw that his friends were mostly unharmed, he fell to his knees, bowed his head, and clasped his hands together under his chin.

 _All I can do  
All I can do is praise Him…_

THE END


	10. Through a Glass Darkly

.

This is just a little tidbit of what Aramis was thinking and feeling after he woke up from being pushed  
out the window in 'Through a Glass Darkly'.

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At first, when Aramis heard a crow squawking, he imagined that he was waking from a night of camping outside on his way to or from a mission. His assumption was contradicted by the pain that suddenly coursed through his body, and he abruptly felt a strange weight on his stomach that balanced unsteadily. The squawk sounded again—too loudly for his throbbing head—and he realized that the offending bird was standing on him.

Aramis sluggishly tried to push the bird off himself and missed, so he tried again and it flew off, digging its claws into him as it took flight. The pain simply added itself to the rest of the aches that filled him, and Aramis groggily opened his eyes, looking up to see the outside of the building that he'd just been _inside_.

How long had he been laying there, on the awning that God had ensured was there to save his life?

Aramis turned his head slightly and made a sound of distress at the pain. He gingerly reached behind his head and felt something sticky. Pulling his hand away, he looked at it and found the obvious: blood. With a hiss of pain, he pulled a very large piece of glass out from under his head and dropped it on the awning, before blinking dizzily.

Suddenly, the memory came back to him: Marmion had taken everyone hostage. Aramis realized that he needed to get back inside... _now_.

With a wince, looking up at the broken window four stories above himself, he slowly sat up, relieved that he hadn't broken any bones in the fall. He stood and ignored the dizziness and pain, before reaching for a handhold. Climbing the building was the only way to get back inside unseen, and he pushed his injuries to the back of his mind, determined to save the queen and his son, whatever the cost to himself.


	11. Tag to 'The Exiles'

.

Tag to 'The Exiles'  
by Deana

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Aramis sighed from where he sat at the table near the stairs in the garrison courtyard. Athos and d'Artagnan were sparring, and Porthos had disappeared…probably to get food. Aramis was alone with his thoughts, which were on only one thing: Agnes and baby Henri.

A hand suddenly fell onto his right shoulder and he flinched away. "Porthos!" he said. "You know that hurts!"

The hand vanished, and a voice said, "What did you do to it?"

Aramis turned his head and found Captain Treville standing behind him, not Porthos.

"I called to you a moment ago, but you didn't answer," said Treville. "Now what did you do to your shoulder?"

Aramis shook his head. "It's nothing."

Treville frowned. "Let me see."

"But it's nothing," Aramis repeated.

"That's why I need to see it," said Treville. "The last time you said 'it's nothing', you had a _musket ball_ in that shoulder." With that, he reached for the collar of Aramis' shirt. "The time before that, you said 'it's nothing' when you'd been stabbed in the side. The time before _that_ —"

"All right, all right, I get the point," Aramis said, reaching to undo the ties on his shirt. He moved his right arm very carefully, and as soon as he finished with the laces, he pushed the collar down his arm as far as it could go.

Treville's eyes widened. The side of Aramis' shoulder to halfway down his upper arm were purple. "How did you do _that_?"

Aramis sighed before readjusting his shirt with a wince. "When Vincent's men pulled me off my horse, I struck the bridge rail on the way down."

Treville echoed the sigh before sitting beside him. "That's why I came over here, to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened today."

Aramis nodded. "At least they're free now and Agnes doesn't have to worry."

Treville frowned; that was an odd thing to say. "Free?"

Aramis nodded. "No one will know to look for them _there_."

 _In heaven?_ Treville just stared, wondering if the younger musketeer had lost his mind. Had he grown so attached to the baby that his mind had gone into some kind of denial, especially since Aramis was the one who'd been protecting Henri when Vincent's men had caused his untimely death? Had the horror affected him that badly? "I…think you should get some rest, Aramis," he said, reaching to take his arm but stopping before he touched the bruising.

Aramis shook his head with a sigh. "I'm fine."

"I don't think you are," said Treville.

Aramis looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Aramis…" said Treville. "Are you forgetting what happened?"

Aramis frowned. "What do you mean?"

Treville sighed. How was he supposed to tell him this, especially when he should already know? "The baby…went into the water, remember?"

Aramis stared at him for a few seconds, saying nothing, before he put his left hand over his eyes.

Treville again reached out, laying a hand on Aramis' forearm. "I'm sorry."

Aramis shook his head before removing his hand. "No, _I_ am. I thought…I can't believe…"

"Don't apologize," said Treville. "What happened was an unspeakable horror, and you need time to come to terms with it."

Aramis shook his head again. "No, you don't understand…Henry didn't die."

Treville tightened his hand around Aramis' wrist. "There's no way he survived, Aramis. No one retrieved him from the water."

"That's because he was never _in_ it," Aramis told him.

Treville blinked. "What?"

"It was a ruse," said Aramis. "The blankets went into the water, but Henry wasn't in them. I thought one of us told you."

Treville's jaw dropped. "You're telling me that baby Henry is alive?"

Aramis nodded, with a smile. "Agnes took him to Spain. We gave her money."

Treville blinked at him for a minute, before looking away and shaking his head. "And all afternoon, I was trying to figure out how on earth you would recover from this…taking Henry across the bridge only for him to be pulled from your arms and killed."

Aramis shook his head. "Like I told Agnes, I would never take something that precious into battle."

Treville smiled. "You have no idea how relieved I am."

Aramis nodded. "So am I."

"I assume Richelieu wasn't told?" Treville asked.

"No," Aramis answered.

"Good…that's definitely something that he doesn't _ever_ need to know."

"Who doesn't need to know what?" they suddenly heard.

Aramis winced. "Oh Captain, he heard us talking about him!"

Porthos chuckled as he put a huge tray down on the table.

Treville stood so they could eat in peace. "You're on light duty until you can properly use that arm," he said to Aramis. "You should put it in a sling."

Aramis nodded. Using his sword was out of the question for a least a few days.

"It's a good thing one of us thinks ahead," said Porthos, sitting next to Aramis and plopping a long piece of cloth onto the table.

Treville smiled at them before walking away and heading up the stairs.

"Ow!" he suddenly heard Aramis exclaim.

"Sorry!" Porthos replied.

Treville rolled his eyes and went into his office, breathing a sigh of relief that the situation hadn't been the awful tragedy that he'd feared…for Aramis' sake.

THE END


	12. Aramis' Birthday

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 **Aramis' Birthday**  
A Musketeers story by Deana

Yes, a simple title…today is Santiago Cabrera's birthday, and as I sat at my desk at work, I realized that I should've written something to honor it, and came up with this…all typed into my phone behind my boss' back. LOL! It's short and sweet, and cute, I think!

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"Time for the birthday toast!" Porthos exclaimed, raising his goblet.

Athos and d'Artagnan raised theirs too, while Aramis sat smiling.

"To Aramis," Porthos said. "The best and most annoying friend a person could ever have! May your twenty-ninth year be just as full of shooting and stabbing France's enemies as your twenty-eighth was!"

Aramis laughed.

"To Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

"To Aramis!" Athos and d'Artagnan echoed.

Aramis raised his own goblet and clicked it against each of theirs before they all drank.

Putting his goblet down, d'Artagnan said to Aramis, "How old are you really?"

"Twenty-nine, as of today," Aramis told him.

D'Artagnan laughed. "No, seriously."

Aramis nodded. "Seriously. Twenty-nine."

D'Artagnan laughed again, before seeing the agreeing expressions on the others' faces. "You're only twenty-nine?"

Aramis drank from his goblet again with a nod. "Mmm hmm."

D'Artagnan couldn't hide his surprise. "All this time, you've only been twenty-eight?!"

Aramis put down his goblet, which Porthos promptly refilled. "Not _all_ this time, my friend, just for the past year!" He looked at Athos and Porthos. "I think he's had too much to drink," he whispered.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I meant since I've _known_ you! Twenty-eight?"

"And now, twenty-nine," Aramis answered, drinking again.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I thought you were older."

Aramis choked. "Older?!"

Porthos roared with laughter again, and even Athos laughed.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan with shock. "You thought I was older than twenty-eight? How old did you think I _was_?"

D'Artagnan hesitated. "Thirty-two?"

Aramis clasped a hand to his chest over his heart as if fatally wounded. "Thirty-two! You added four years to me! Four years that I have yet to live!"

"Three, really," said Athos, into his cup. "You're twenty-nine now."

"Four; he would've thought that I was turning thirty-three today!" Aramis closed his eyes with a dramatic groan, fisting his hand over his chest as if in pain.

"I'm sorry," said d'Artagnan, fearing that he'd insulted him. "I haven't known you for very long..."

Aramis opened his eyes with a chuckle before reaching over to pat his arm. "It's all right, d'Artagnan. It's because of my dashing, mature good looks that you thought me to be older. It's not your fault."

Porthos snorted. "His looks," he mumbled. "If you saw him without the mustache and beard, d'Artagnan, you'd have thought him _younger_ , not older!"

"Porthos...!" Aramis warned.

"Baby-faced, he is," Porthos continued, effortlessly grabbing Aramis' wrist when he reached out to smack his arm.

D'Artagnan laughed and looked at Athos, who was smiling. "Twenty-nine? Really?"

Athos nodded. "Twenty-nine."

D'Artagnan suddenly had a thought. "Are _you_ younger than you look too?"

Athos choked on his own wine, before raising his goblet. "To Aramis!" he gasped out, to change the subject.

Everyone held up their goblets. "To Aramis!"

THE END


	13. Mid-Life Crisis

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 **Mid-Life Crisis**  
A Musketeers story by Deana

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At first, Aramis had no idea what had happened.

Patrolling the marketplace, he'd happened to be walking towards a vendor who had his purse of earnings snatched right off his belt. The man shouted and pointed, but Aramis had seen everything and ran after the thief. The man was surprisingly fast, and Aramis wasn't able to catch up to him. He pulled out his gun and threatened to shoot him to get him to stop, but the man kept going, jumping over carts and throwing people aside before turning down an alley.

Aramis was able to quicken his pace with the obstacles out of the way, but unexpectedly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his right lower leg, and his knee buckled, dropping him heavily to the ground.

"Aramis!" he heard, through a haze of agony. Hands were suddenly touching him, and Aramis gave an exclamation of pain as he tried to grab his leg.

The others weren't sure yet what was wrong, as they'd heard no gunshot and there was no blood, so Athos grabbed Aramis' leg and straightened it out, seeing that it didn't look broken.

"Get me up!" Aramis exclaimed, fighting Porthos' restrictive grip and holding out his hands.

"Forget it," d'Artagnan said. "The thief got away."

"Up!" Aramis frantically repeated. "Cramp!"

The others finally understood, and Porthos and d'Artagnan pulled Aramis to his feet and they all watched as he limped around in a circle, wincing. Eventually, he stopped near Porthos and grabbed his arm to lean on.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked.

Aramis took a deep breath and let it out heavily. "I think so."

"What happened?" Porthos asked, holding onto his friend as if unsure that he would remain upright.

"I was following the thief," Aramis told him. "Until I suddenly got a cramp in my leg."

"That looked like more than just a 'cramp'," d'Artagnan commented.

"It was a very _bad_ cramp," said Aramis, before putting a hand over his eyes. "I can't believe I let him get away!"

"You didn't _let_ him," Porthos said. "It's not your fault that you were running one second and kissing the ground the next!"

Aramis shook his head."Thank you for making it sound even more embarrassing."

"Did you hurt yourself?" Athos asked. "Besides your cramp?"

Somehow, Athos' dry monotone made it sound even worse than Porthos' words.

Aramis sighed. "Bruises. I'm fine."

"Can you walk?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded and straightened, letting go of Porthos' arm. "Yes."

They started to make their way back, noticing that Aramis was limping. They walked slowly for his benefit, and when the vendor saw them coming without his money, he visibly deflated.

"I'm so sorry," Aramis said to him. "He got away from me."

The vendor saw the limp, and assumed that Aramis and the thief had been in an altercation. "It isn't your fault, lad," he said. "It happens. Thank you for trying."

Aramis was uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way back to the garrison, and once they entered, they saw how hard he tried not to limp, not wanting to draw attention to himself and invite questions.

Aramis remained mostly quiet through supper, and once he finished, he excused himself and stood.

Everyone else stood too, and Aramis was only slightly surprised when all three of his friends followed as he limped towards his room.

"Are we playing 'Follow the Leader'?" Aramis couldn't help but ask.

"You're quiet," Porthos said, as if that explained everything...which it did; everyone who knew Aramis knew that he was hardly _ever_ quiet…happy and talkative, Aramis was. A _quiet_ Aramis was sad, upset, or in pain.

They reached his door and headed inside, where Athos went and lit the fire.

Aramis took off his hat and weapons and plopped them down on his dresser before looking at his friends, but just as he opened his mouth, Athos cut him off.

"It can wait a few minutes more," Athos said, placing bricks in the fire.

It was obvious what they were for, and Aramis nodded, taking off his jacket and boots. He struggled with the one on his aching right leg until Porthos helped him, and then he sat on his bed with a sigh.

D'Artagnan found a bottle of wine and four cups, and Athos eventually came over with the bricks in a blanket, which they wrapped around Aramis' right leg.

The heat was very soothing to the deep ache, and Aramis relaxed against his pillow and closed his eyes.

The other three watched him, glad to have a chance to help ease his pain, like Aramis was always doing for them.

When the sound of the wine being poured filled the room, Aramis reopened his eyes and took the cup that was handed to him, giving them a grateful smile. "Thank you," he said.

Athos nodded and the others smiled, drinking their wine and waiting for Aramis to speak.

"I think I'm getting old."

Porthos nearly spit out his wine. "Old?! You're younger than _us_!" he said, motioning between Athos and himself.

"I should've been able to catch that thief," Aramis said. "Not trip over myself!"

"What happened to you could've happened to anyone," Athos told him.

Aramis shook his head. "But it's not as if I was injured in the line of duty; my body just...suddenly didn't cooperate with me."

"You were runnin'," said Porthos. "Somehow a step didn't agree with your leg, that's all. If _you're_ gettin' old, then what does that make the captain?"

"Or Richelieu," said d'Artagnan, shaking his head. "You're too young to think you're already getting old!"

Aramis sighed. "I've been a musketeer since its first year. Maybe early aging is the price of being a soldier for so long!"

Porthos tried hard not to laugh at that; Aramis was obviously serious, despite how ridiculous it sounded, and he didn't want to make his friend feel even worse. "I think you're overreactin'," he said. "You're not gettin' old, and that's that."

Aramis sighed again, but he gave his friend a grateful look. "Thank you."

Porthos smiled. "Just get a good night's sleep, and I'm sure you'll feel better in the mornin'."

Aramis nodded and drank his wine.

They passed the rest of the night drinking the entire bottle as well as one belonging to Athos—after all, there were _four_ of them—and switching the bricks inside Aramis' leg-wrap. Once he fell asleep, they covered him up and quietly left.

A singing bird is what woke Aramis up the next morning, and he stretched, momentarily forgetting about his leg. A twinge of pain filled it, but it was nowhere near as bad as the day before.

His door suddenly opened slightly, and Porthos poked his head in. "Mornin'," he said, when he saw his friend awake.

"Morning," Aramis answered, with a yawn.

"Did you sleep all right?" Porthos asked, coming in.

Aramis nodded, closing his eyes again. He had a feeling it was too early. That knowlege made him pop his eyes open again. "Something wrong?" he asked, pushing the blankets back.

Porthos shook his head. "No, why?"

"It's early," said Aramis. "And you're dressed and here for a reason."

"I got up sooner so I could come see if you needed help," Porthos told him. "Wasn't sure how your leg was...nevermind whatever else you did to yourself when you fell. I figured you'd really be hurtin'."

That was true. Aramis carefully sat up and felt every bump and bruise. He remembered how hard he'd fallen, and realized how lucky he was that he hadn't hurt himself worse. "I think I'm all right," he said.

"You think?"

Aramis looked at him and smiled slightly. "You're more concerned than you need to be." With that, he stood and took a few steps, forcing himself not to limp. "See? I'm fine."

Porthos watched him, before nodding.

Ten minutes later, Aramis was ready and Porthos opened the door, to find Athos and d'Artagnan standing there, with d'Artagnan's fist raised to knock.

"I beat you," Porthos said to them.

D'Artagnan smiled. "We figured you had." He looked at Aramis and opened his mouth to ask him a question.

"I'm fine," Aramis said, before he could ask.

"No pain?" Athos asked.

"Only slight," Aramis told him, as he walked out the door. "See? No limp."

"You still should be careful today," Athos said, as they followed him. "You don't want to take another fall."

Aramis nodded; if the roles were reversed, he would be saying the same thing. He walked down the stairs slowly, but before they reached their usual table, they suddenly heard someone shout, "Stop! Thief! Help!"

All four of the musketeers hurried outside the gate and looked around. Aramis spotted the thief first, and took off running.

The others turned when they heard him, and Porthos shouted, "Aramis!"

It was the same thief as yesterday, and Aramis paid no attention to his friends as he chased him. He knew that he probably shouldn't be running after what had happened—especially since his leg still hurt—but he had a second chance to catch the man, and he wasn't going to fail this time.

The thief did the same thing as the previous day, weaving around obstacles and pushing people out of his way. Eventually, they reached an alley and Aramis was not about to lose him again. He was relieved to find that though the pain in his leg was increasing, it was holding up so far, and as the thief rounded a cart and approached a corner, Aramis dove over it, rolled, and came up firing his pistol.

The purse of coins flew out of the man's hand and sprayed the money onto the ground, and the thief was so startled that he fell with a shocked cry.

The other three musketeers caught up with Aramis, and d'Artagnan ran over to the thief to prevent him from running off again.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked, grabbing Aramis' arm and pulling him to his feet.

Aramis nodded as he worked on catching his breath. "Yes."

Porthos patted him on the back, watching as three Red Guards showed up to take the thief away. He noticed with amusement that the man was limping on _his_ right leg. "There's justice for you, Aramis!" he remarked.

Aramis chuckled.

"Can you walk?" Athos asked, looking down at Aramis' right leg.

Aramis nodded. The run had increased the pain in his leg, but not as much as he thought it would.

D'Artagnan collected all of the coins, and they slowly walked at Aramis' limping pace, coming upon the thief's victim along the way. Aramis gave him his money back, and the man was extremely grateful.

"Here," d'Artagnan suddenly said to Aramis.

Aramis looked at him and took what he was handing out; the purse of coins that the thief had stolen the day before. He looked at d'Artagnan in shock.

D'Artagnan smiled. "Now you can give that back too."

Aramis smiled; his honor would be once more intact. "Thank you, my friend."

Once back at the garrison, they ate breakfast and stood outside the gate as they waited for a certain vendor to arrive with his cart. Once they spotted him, they headed over and Aramis tapped him on the shoulder and plopped the bag of coins into his hand after he turned around.

"My money!" he exclaimed.

Aramis nodded. "We just caught the thief."

" _He_ caught the thief," said Porthos, gesturing his thumb at Aramis.

The vendor smiled and shook Aramis' hand. "Thank you, monsieur! You have my eternal gratitude!"

Aramis smiled, and as they started to walk away, Porthos threw his arm around his shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but Athos beat him to it.

"I don't know any 'old men' who can dive over a cart, roll over, and shoot the coins right out of a thief's hand," Athos commented.

"I don't either," d'Artagnan said.

Porthos chuckled. "Athos took the words right out of my mouth. You're not gettin' old, Aramis; what you did just proved it."

Aramis nodded, with a smile. "Thank you, my friends," he said. "Now…the last one back to the garrison buys tonight's wine!"

With that, he ran off.

"Aramis!" they all exclaimed, before running after him.

THE END


	14. Calming Presence

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 **Calming Presence**  
A Musketeer story by Deana

Takes place after season 2 episode 1, 'Keep Your Friends Close'

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Athos watched as Porthos and d'Artagnan wrestled each other in the garrison courtyard. Porthos was laughing, making it obvious that he was going easy on him as he helped him to 'better his hand-to-hand fighting'.

A sigh came from Athos' left, and he looked towards Aramis, who was sitting on top of the table cleaning his pistol...for the third time. Athos frowned to see how rough he was being with it, which was not how Aramis ever handled his weapons. There was anger in his friend's expression, and the reason was obvious. "Aramis," he said.

His friend didn't react, as if he hadn't heard him.

Athos reached over and put a hand on his arm. "Aramis," he said again.

Aramis looked up, seeming surprised. He realized what he was doing and put the pistol down, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. "He murdered her, Athos," he said. "He murdered her!"

Athos sighed. Of course, the news of Adele's death at the hands of the cardinal was still fresh in his mind. "It isn't your fault."

Aramis looked at him, looking heartbroken. "How could anyone murder a woman, Athos? When she disappeared, I thought she'd chosen Richelieu over me...but he killed her, and he made sure that I found out!" He picked up his sword. "If he wasn't already dead..." He sighed heavily and lowered his head.

Athos stood and pulled out his own sword, tapping it against the blade of Aramis' before striding out into the open. "Come." His intention was obvious, and Aramis quickly followed.

They saluted each other before raising their swords.

Athos struck first, knowing that Aramis needed to get his anger out. He drove Aramis back for a few hits before letting his guard down slightly so Aramis could gain the upper hand...

...and gain it, he did.

The sound of swords clashing quickly got Porthos' and d'Artagnan's attention, and they stopped training and watched as Aramis fought more furiously than they'd ever seen him.

The emotions coursing through Aramis came out in every blow, as he drove Athos back; sadness that Adele was dead, wrath at Richelieu for killing her, and guilt that he hadn't been able to stop it.

Athos continue to defend himself, letting Aramis remain on the offensive. He could read every emotion on his friend's face, and met each strike blow for blow, despite Aramis' usual fighting style being absent. He eventually pulled out a dagger for his left hand and Aramis did the same, and the fight quickly became two-handed.

Porthos and d'Artagnan silently watched.

The depth of Aramis' feelings were apparent in the strength of each strike, but eventually, his furious speed began to wear him out.

Athos saw the instant that his friend had enough. Rather than let Aramis grow tired enough to make a mistake and risk himself harm, he allowed Aramis to disarm him.

Aramis sent Athos' sword flying across the courtyard and stood there breathing so heavily that Porthos and d'Artagnan could hear him. They shot each other a look of concern and started to walk over.

The anger that Aramis felt drained out of him like a bleeding wound and was quickly replaced with grief. He found his body trembling from overexertion and he took a stumbling step towards the stairs, laying an arm on the rail and resting his forehead against it.

A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder. "Aramis?" It was Porthos.

After the wild fight, Aramis had no breath to speak with, and kept his head lowered.

Porthos directed his next question at Athos. "What was _that_ all about?"

Aramis heard Athos say something softly, and another hand touched him. Aramis finally looked up, and the expression on Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces made it obvious that Athos had told them that Adele was dead.

Aramis was glad that he hadn't heard the words.

"Come on," Porthos said, putting an arm around him and pulling him away from the rail.

Aramis' legs were still wobbly, but Porthos' tight grip kept him steady as they left the garrison. A handkerchief suddenly appeared in front of him and he took it, shakily wiping away the sweat-and tears?-from his face that he hadn't even noticed.

No one spoke, but no one had to; they knew that their calming presence was the best thing for Aramis at that moment. Aramis wasn't even sure of where they were going, but he knew that there was no place he'd rather be; in the company of his brothers.

THE END


	15. Another Tag to 'The Good Soldier'

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Another tag to season 1 episode 4, 'The Good Soldier'  
By Deana

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Treville looked up when he heard a knock at his door. His first reaction was surprise and then anxiety, as no one would be there in the middle of the night unless something was very wrong. The feeling alleviated somewhat when he realized that it had been a calm knock, not a frantic one, and Treville rose from his desk chair and crossed to the door.

The person he found on the other side wasn't entirely unexpected. "Aramis."

Aramis nodded, looking exhausted and pale. "I had a feeling you were awake too."

Treville nodded and moved aside to let him in. He watched as Aramis headed over to the chair in front of Treville's desk and dropped into it without his usual catlike fluidity. Treville followed him and sat in his own chair, lighting a second candle so he could see him better.

Aramis looked exhausted as he quietly stared at the top of the desk, and Treville was surprised to see that the skin around his left eye was blackened. "How did _that_ happen?" he asked without thinking.

"Marsac knocked me out before he confronted you," Aramis told him. He made an amused sound. "One punch was all it took; I told him once that he was nearly as strong as Porthos."

Treville frowned and stood, pulling his chair with him and sitting beside Aramis. He gently reached out to turn his face towards him, looking into his eyes to ensure that he wasn't concussed.

Aramis submitted, knowing his reputation for caring for everyone's injuries but his own. "Poetic justice," he said.

Treville knew that he was referring to the fact that Aramis had punched _him_ after he'd admitted to having a hand in what happened in Savoy. Treville hadn't been knocked unconscious though, and was relieved to find that the pupils of Aramis' eyes were even. He could also see the pain lines in Aramis' face that indicated a headache, though, so he went back to his desk and took out a small bottle of brandy, pouring two glasses before returning to hand him one.

"Thank you," Aramis said, taking a sip.

Treville sat again and sipped his own, waiting for Aramis to speak again.

Aramis sighed. "I can't believe it's been five years."

Treville nodded. "I know that it haunts you."

"Not as much as it used to," Aramis told him. "Most of the time it's a painful thought in the back of my mind that I can successfully distract myself against."

"And other times?" Treville asked.

Aramis closed his eyes. "Other times I _don't_ succeed."

Treville echoed the sigh.

"And then there are some nights..." Aramis started. He stopped and took a gulp of the brandy. "Some nights...I can hardly cope at all."

Treville nodded, knowing of the nightmares that had plagued Aramis ever since the massacre. "I'm so sorry to have been part of the cause." With that, he gulped his own brandy and grabbed the bottle again.

"It wasn't your fault," Aramis said, reaching his glass out for more.

Treville refilled both, before putting it down. "You believe me?" he said. "You truly, _completely_ believe me?"

Aramis nodded without hesitation.

Treville was relieved, but felt unworthy of Aramis' complete trust. "Why? After what you learned of the true events surrounding Savoy, how could you take my explanation so easily?"

"Because I _know_ you," Aramis said, looking at him. "And I know Richelieu. _You_ are a good man; _he_ is not."

Treville felt humbled. "I sometimes feel that I don't deserve this…being captain."

"There's no one who deserves it _more_ ," Aramis told him, sipping his brandy again.

Treville watched him, before suddenly putting a hand over his eyes. "You know that I'm not one to openly discuss feelings," he said. "But you have no idea how much I feared the day that you'd learn the truth about Savoy." Now that he'd spoken some of what was in his heart, he found that he couldn't stop. He knew that the brandy likely had something to do with that, but he continued anyway. "I never thought you'd believe that I didn't know. I wasn't surprised by Marsac's reaction at all."

Aramis sighed, finishing his second glass of brandy. He held the cup in his lap and stared at it, his mind replaying the instant when he'd shot Marsac…when he'd killed his friend.

Treville saw the change in his face and knew what he was thinking about. "Forgive me, Aramis," he said, reaching out to clasp his arm. He knew how close Aramis and Marsac had been before the Savoy massacre, and he couldn't imagine what it was like to have to kill a friend.

"You're not to blame for that either," Aramis said, his voice shaky with emotion. "I chose you over him."

"I put you in that position," Treville answered, mournfully. "If I had given you the truth sooner, you would've told him and that altercation might not have taken place."

Aramis reached for the brandy and poured more into his cup, his hand shaking enough to make him almost spill it. He swallowed a gulp of it and closed his eyes, wishing that it would make him stronger. Instead, the alcohol was making it harder for him to deal with his feelings. "No," he finally said. "Whether he heard it from you today or heard it from me yesterday, his mind was already made up and nothing could've changed it."

That made Treville feel a little better. "Still, I'm sorry. And...thank you for saving my life."

Aramis nodded.

They were quiet for a minute before Treville said, "You have to understand why I wouldn't tell you. Before today, only three people knew what caused the Savoy massacre; the king, Richelieu, and I. You, Athos, and Porthos now hold dangerous knowledge of a government secret; if Richelieu ever found out, he wouldn't hesitate to have you three killed."

Aramis stared at the brandy still in his cup. "You can trust us. We also know about Cluzet."

Treville sighed. " _Two_ government secrets."

Aramis nodded.

Both of them were quiet for a minute, before Treville said, "You thought that I'd deliberately sent you to Savoy to die."

Aramis closed his eyes. "I didn't, really…"

"Yes you did," Treville said. "However briefly, you did, and I don't blame you, especially when I was so elusive about it when you asked."

Aramis drank the rest of his brandy before lowering his head.

"If I had known what was going to happen, I would never have sent you," said Treville. "I would've defied the cardinal with my last breath before I sent _anyone_ , if I'd known, but if I'd had even the _slightest_ suspicion, _you_ would've remained safe at the garrison."

Aramis looked at him.

"Do you remember when you first came here?" Treville said. "Twenty years old, fresh from the cavalry, skilled enough to not need instruction in shooting _or_ swordplay. You were friendly, efficient, and likeable to everyone who met you."

Aramis smiled slightly.

"You were always there at my right hand, eager to assist, and became my most trusted musketeer." Treville continued. "Athos and Porthos attained that status later, but for years, it was just you." The brandy combined with the trying events of the day were definitely making him sentimental, for he said next, "I never had children, and I hope you know that I regard you as a son."

Aramis blinked.

Treville downed the rest of his brandy and placed the cup on his desk.

Aramis gave a little smile, as if he'd known all along. "Thank you," he said, feeling slightly choked-up. He blamed it on the brandy, just as Treville did. "When I heard about the musketeer regiment that was being formed, I signed up without a second thought. It was the best decision I ever made." He raised his cup to drink, but found that it was empty. His head was spinning from the alcohol, so he put the cup on the desk rather than have a fourth drink. "I'd joined the cavalry after my parents died, as you know. I lost one family, but I found a new one here, with you, Athos, and Porthos."

Treville smiled and they sat in silence for a minute.

"Perhaps you should put that away before we embarrass ourselves further," Aramis said, gesturing towards the brandy.

Treville knew that he'd said it for his benefit, and he chuckled as he stood to put it back into his drawer.

Suddenly, footsteps could be heard in the hall.

"It appears that Athos and Porthos have awoken to find me missing," Aramis suddenly said.

Treville wasn't surprised to hear that the other two hadn't left Aramis alone that night. They'd both obviously fallen asleep in chairs next to the bed and Aramis had snuck out.

With a sigh, Aramis stood, knowing that the others would panic if they didn't find him. He forgot to take into account the hit he'd taken that day and the three glasses of brandy that he'd just drank, and stumbled when a wave of dizziness swept over him. His legs buckled and he tried to grab onto the chair as he went down, but all it served to do was loudly tip it over as he landed on his knees.

Treville quickly knelt beside him and grabbed him by the shoulders, just as they heard, "Captain?!" come from the other side of the door. Before he could tell them to enter, the door opened and Athos and Porthos came inside.

Porthos gasped at the sight of Aramis on the floor, and rushed over. "What happened?!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees.

"I'm fine," Aramis answered, his words slurring slightly. "Just a little dizzy."

"I thought you said that you weren't concussed?" Athos commented, dryly.

"He's not," said Treville. "We...drank too much."

Both Athos and Porthos were surprised to hear that coming from Treville, thought they each completely understood.

"I'm fine," Aramis repeated. His head suddenly drooped before he lifted it again.

"You're exhausted," said Porthos. "Come on, time for bed." With that, he and Athos grabbed Aramis' arms and pulled him to his feet, tightening their hold to steady him.

Before they could start for the door, Treville reached out to squeeze Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis tiredly looked at him and nodded. No further words were needed.

"G'night, captain," Porthos said, and they helped Aramis out the door.

Treville listened to them as they shuffled down the hall before heading to his bed and lying down, finding that he felt mentally lighter thanks to his conversation with Aramis. As he fell asleep, he desperately hoped that Aramis felt the same.

THE END


	16. Tag to 'The Prodigal Father'

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Tag to 'The Prodigal Father'  
A Musketeer story by Deana

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 _"Why didn't you help me?"_

 _Aramis stared at the dead body of the young girl laying in the back of the wagon, eyes wide open in death._

 _"You could have helped me."_

 _Aramis tried to answer, but no words would come out of his mouth. Dead bodies weren't supposed to talk, were they?_

 _"You should have helped me…" said the corpse, her lips not even moving. "If you had, I would not be dead…"_

Aramis sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily. He looked around wildly, before he realized that he was in his room in the garrison; easily recognizable in the bright moonlight that streamed through the window. With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face before running them through his hair. He was covered in sweat, and just sat there for a minute catching his breath.

Why had he had such an awful dream?

Not for the first time, Aramis wondered if there had been anything that he could've done to save Martine, Camille's young friend. With a sigh, he got out of bed and walked over to the window, looking out on the night. With slight surprise, he noticed that there was a lit candle on the sill of the window next to his.

Porthos was awake.

Turning, Aramis quickly left his room before quietly knocking on his friend's door. It took only a few seconds before it was opened, and Porthos looked at him with concern as he moved aside so Aramis could come in.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Aramis sighed. "I feel as if I have."

When Porthos saw sweat covering his friend's pale skin, he took him by the arm and pulled him over to the bed. "Are you sick?" he asked, sitting him down and putting a hand on his forehead to check for fever.

"No," Aramis said, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

Porthos removed his hand. "You don't _look_ it."

"I had a nightmare," Aramis told him, with a sigh. "Related to…today's events." He suddenly realized that he probably shouldn't've gone to Porthos with his problem; Porthos had his own issues to deal with after finally meeting his father, the Marquis de Belgard.

Porthos nodded with a sigh. "Yeah, I missed some things, didn't I?" He went to grab a chair and pulled it over, sitting down and giving him his full attention. "Tell me."

Aramis hesitated.

"What is it?" Porthos asked.

"Don't you have enough on your mind without having to listen to _me_?" Aramis asked.

Porthos shook his head. "Don't worry about that…I want to know what happened that was bad enough to give you a nightmare that turned your face as white as the moon out there."

Aramis turned for a moment to see that the full moon was visible out the window from where he sat. It was a calming sight, and he watched it for a few seconds before turning back to his friend and telling him the story.

Porthos shook his head angrily. "Belgard," he growled, before looking at his friend sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Aramis."

Aramis frowned. "For what?"

"If I hadn't made you go with me, you would never have gotten involved."

Aramis shook his head. "Don't we always follow each other? That wasn't your fault at all. You couldn't've know what was going to happen."

Porthos nodded. "And _you_ couldn't've known what would happen to that girl. There was nothing you could've done for her, but you did _everything_ you could for her friend and the others."

Aramis realized that was true. He nodded and gave his friend a slight smile. "You're right; thank you."

Porthos smiled and reached over to slap his arm. "Now…I have something to tell _you._ "

"What's that?"

Porthos smiled. "My birthday."

"Your—?" Aramis started, before cutting himself off at the realization. "You mean you found out the actual date?"

Porthos nodded. "September sixth."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up. "You had the right month!"

Porthos nodded. "Just the wrong day." He'd chosen September tenth as his birthday years before, and it was funny to see how close he'd been. "It was the first thing I asked Belgard."

Aramis was smiling. "I'm glad you thought of it." Suddenly, he realized something else. "Did he tell you the year?"

Porthos nodded.

"And…?" said Aramis.

Porthos leaned back in his chair. "I'm younger than you."

"What!"

Porthos laughed. "No…I'm two years older, which is pretty much what I figured all along."

Aramis shook his head with a smile. "At least _one_ good thing came out of this."

Porthos nodded.

Aramis watched his friend's expression, easily able to tell what he was thinking. "How are you dealing with everything?"

Porthos shrugged. "I feel like a fool, actually. I can't get the captain's words out of my head."

"Which words?"

"He said 'trust me'...and I walked out." Porthos closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I owe him such an apology, Aramis."

Aramis reached out to squeeze his friend's shoulder. "I'm sure he understands, Porthos."

"Maybe so," said Porthos. "But that doesn't change anything."

Aramis nodded, and they both sat quietly for a minute.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" Porthos suddenly asked.

Aramis thought for a few seconds before shaking his head. The last thing he wanted was to see Martine's dead body in his dreams again.

"Me neither," said Porthos. He stood. "Let's go look for some thieves to punch."

Aramis laughed at that.

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Captain Treville sat up in his own room, unable to sleep either. He'd almost lost one of his best musketeers that day, thanks to his own bad decision decades ago. Sighing, he walked over to the window and looked out at the full moon, before he suddenly saw someone moving through the courtyard. Two laughing voices drifted up to him, obviously belonging to Aramis and Porthos. He watched as they opened the gate and left, and he suddenly realized that he was smiling.

In the end, Porthos had ultimately believed him instead of his father, and had returned. _That_ was what truly mattered.

THE END


	17. Tag to 'Slight of Hand' Part 2

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Part 2 of my tag to S1E2, 'Slight of Hand'. (Part 1 is chapter 2 in this collection)  
A Musketeers story by Deana

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Porthos had dozed off in the chair beside Aramis' bed, but a sudden soft creaking sound suddenly met his ears. Turning his head, he spotted Athos' head peeking inside the door. There was enough light in the room for Porthos to see that it was just after dawn, and he watched as Athos quietly came into the room and stopped beside his chair.

"You too, huh?" he whispered to Athos.

Athos quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I had a nightmare," Porthos explained. "About the…the bomb. I dreamt that it…well…that it _wasn't_ a dud."

"I didn't dream," said Athos. "I woke a short while ago and the first thing that entered my mind was what Aramis did yesterday."

Quietly, the two musketeers watched their friend sleep.

Athos frowned. "Why does he look—"

"Pained?" said Porthos. "The bomb…the second one, the one that knocked us down when we caught up with Vadim? Well, it knocked him _up._ "

"Up?"

"Aramis stayed on the stairs. The blast knocked him back up them and he cracked one rib and bruised others."

Athos' face showed surprise. " _What?!_ "

Porthos nodded. "When I came in here a few hours ago, I found him awake too, hurtin'. You should see his skin…all purple."

Athos sighed. "I'll inform the captain that he needs to be taken off duty."

"Good idea."

Aramis suddenly shifted slightly in his sleep, which sent a flare of pain through his ribs and he woke with a groan.

Porthos reached out to grab his arm. "Hey, quit movin'."

Aramis winced, taking a few careful breaths before opening his eyes and seeing that Athos had joined them. "You too?" he said, his voice rough with pain as he unknowingly repeated Porthos' words.

Athos sat on the bed and pulled the blanket back, lifting Aramis' shirt to display the bandage that Porthos had wrapped around him. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked. "First you throw yourself on top of a bomb and then you hide an injury?"

Aramis sighed, which made him wince. "I didn't feel it too much, at first…plus we were trying to find Vadim and d'Artagnan. I couldn't stop everything over some bruises."

At that, Porthos reached for the knife that he'd used to cut the bandages off Aramis earlier, and handed it to Athos.

Aramis made a face as if he knew that he was in trouble now, as Athos wordlessly took it and sliced through the bandages before pushing them to either side to display what was underneath.

The purple color that Porthos had mentioned covered most of Aramis' midsection, with one darker spot almost looking black.

"Some bruises?" Athos echoed. "That is the phrase that you chose to refer to this mess?" He reached out a hand towards the darkest spot.

Porthos, having mercy on Aramis, reached out and grabbed Athos' wrist to stop him. "Yeah, that's the cracked one. I already touched it…he doesn't need anyone else to."

Aramis looked relieved.

Athos shook his head. "Aramis…you threw yourself onto a bomb yesterday. _A bomb_."

"I know what I did," Aramis told him. "And Porthos already reminded me. I'm sorry. All I was focused on was saving the queen and the two of you."

Athos closed his eyes. "Don't do that for me, Aramis."

"Porthos said _that_ too," Aramis told him. He was quiet for a few seconds, before saying, "One for all."

Athos sighed. How could he counter that? He grabbed the roll of bandage that Porthos had left on the nightstand before saying, "Sit him up."

Porthos obeyed, being as gentle as he could while Aramis winced the whole time.

Athos wrapped the bandaging around him, making sure it was snug enough to support Aramis' ribs without being too tight. Afterwards, they gave him a drink of water before making him lie down again.

Aramis resisted. "It's nearly time to get up."

Athos shot him an incredulous expression. "If you think you are reporting for morning muster in this condition, you are mistaken."

Aramis opened his mouth to say that he was fine, but changed his mind. His ribs were throbbing and he decided to cooperate, for once.

"Smart man," Porthos said, as he helped him lie down.

A minute passed silently, as they watched Aramis try to fight the pain that all the movement had caused.

"I didn't think, you know," Aramis suddenly said. "I mean, I had no second thoughts. My life didn't matter to me as much as yours and the queen's."

"We both feel the same way about you, you know that," said Porthos. "But to have seen you do that…" he shuddered. "It was…it was…"

"Horrifying," said Athos.

Aramis looked at Athos with surprise. Athos was never one to discuss feelings, so to hear him say that spoke volumes. "I'm sorry."

Athos nodded. "Don't apologize; you thought you were saving our lives…I simply do not approve of the way that you went about it."

Aramis smiled slightly.

"Rest," said Athos. "I will inform Treville that you won't be leaving your room today."

Aramis nodded, knowing that he had no choice. "When he asks if I require a physician, tell him 'no'."

Athos looked as if he wanted to disagree, but he nodded. "I will tell him, but I won't argue if he chooses to send for one anyway."

Aramis rolled his eyes, making Porthos chuckle.

Athos headed for the door and left the room, closing it behind himself and leaning against it for a moment. Shaking his head, Athos thanked God for watching over Aramis so closely before he pushed off the door and headed towards Treville's office.

THE END


	18. Tag to S3E9 'The Prize'

Tag to Season 3 episode 9

A Musketeer story by Deana

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D'Artagnan didn't even try to hide his tears. They rolled down his face, unashamed in the company of his brothers.

Porthos rode beside him, the expression on his face thunderous. Only the few people who knew him best could detect the grief behind his angry expression.

Athos, on d'Artagnan's other side, was the only one of them who appeared stoic, but they all knew that his heart was inwardly screaming as loudly as the others'.

Aramis appeared to be in shock. He was the only one who hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the scene of such tragedy. He held his horse's reins, but he wasn't directing it and it had the good sense to simply walk along with the others.

Upon arriving at the garrison, everyone dismounted but him, and it took Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan only until then to realize his state.

"Aramis?" said Athos.

Aramis gave no answer, staring at nothing. It was then that they all realized he was covered in blood...Treville's blood.

First Minister Treville, their former captain, had died on his lap.

Realization of that fact made all three of them head towards him, d'Artagnan fighting back his tears so they could see to their friend. They all knew that Aramis had joined the musketeer regiment when it first began, as a very young man. He had known Treville the longest.

Athos reached up a hand and took hold of their friend's arm. "Aramis," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

Aramis gave no reply, remaining immobile on his horse, as if not realizing that they'd arrived.

Porthos reached up with both hands and carefully pulled Aramis down.

Aramis' legs didn't hold him up at first, and the other two grabbed hold of him too, helping to steady him and waiting until he was capable of walking.

Aramis remained silent as they brought him up to his room. He climbed the steps slowly, not seeming to notice the hands that held onto him.

Finally, they opened Aramis' door and sat him in a chair.

"Aramis?" Porthos said, reaching for his shoulder.

Athos grabbed his arm, to stop him. "Let's get him out of that uniform first," he whispered.

Porthos instantly saw the wisdom in that...Aramis really didn't need to see how much of Treville's blood was covering him.

Silently, the three of them worked together to get him out of his bloodied uniform. Aramis was completely compliant...whether it was because he was locked up somewhere deep in his mind or because he knew that his brothers were there and he trusted them completely, they weren't sure…it was probably a little of both.

Finally, they were finished, and placed his uniform outside the door to get the coppery smell of the blood out of the room.

"His hands are cold," d'Artagnan suddenly said.

Porthos knelt before Aramis and took both of his hands into his own, finding that d'Artagnan was right; they felt like ice. Aramis was pale and breathing shallowly, and Porthos could feel him shaking as he tried to rub some warmth into his hands.

"He's in shock," Athos said. "Let's get him to the bed." He and Porthos pulled Aramis out of the chair and helped him shuffle over. His shaking increased as they got closer, but after they sat him on the mattress, he resisted when they tried to lay him flat.

"Aramis?" said Athos, bending down to look into his face.

Aramis blinked his eyes, though he still didn't look at anyone. "He gave his life...for my son," he suddenly whispered.

Porthos took the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around Aramis' shaking form before sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shoulders.

Athos clamped his hands around both of Aramis' wrists through the blanket. "He did what he needed to do to protect France's heir."

Aramis shook his head. "But he shouldn't have had to...that was...that was _my_ responsibility..."

Athos sighed, remembering when he'd been given the task of hiding the dauphin after King Louis had suddenly died. Treville told Athos not to tell Aramis, and Athos realized now that it was because he'd known that Aramis would willingly die to protect his son...Treville had saved Aramis' life, and given his own instead.

Aramis suddenly lowered his head. "It's my fault," he whispered, brokenly.

" _Aramis_ ," d'Artagnan choked out, his tears renewed. He sat beside him on the other side and wrapped his arm around him too, laying his forehead on Aramis' shoulder.

Porthos sniffed.

Athos sighed and closed his eyes. The pain of losing Treville felt like a heavy weight that was literally crushing him, and seeing his closest friends suffering so badly was threatening to break his control. "It's _not_ your fault, Aramis!" he said, squeezing his wrists and giving them a shake. "Don't do this to yourself, _don't_! Do you hear me? He was a soldier, just like us, and he knew what he was doing! We might all die someday in the service of France…hopefully as honorably as he did."

As soon as Athos finished speaking, Aramis made a pained sound as the tears finally came, and Porthos wrapped both arms around him.

D'Artagnan quietly cried on Aramis' shoulder, and Athos covered his eyes with one hand, tightening his grip on Aramis' wrist with the other.

For a while, the four of them grieved right where they were. The thought of never seeing Treville again was overwhelming and unbearable.

"If I had known..." Aramis suddenly said. "I wouldn't've...wouldn't've..."

"We _all_ wouldn't have done certain things if we knew the future," Athos said. "You can't think that way, Aramis, you _can't_ , or you'll never be at peace."

Aramis raised his head from Porthos' shoulder, looking at him blearily. "Peace? After today?" He closed his eyes and laid his head on his friend's shoulder again.

Porthos tightened his grip and looked at Athos. If this awful situation had broken Aramis, then they'd lost more than _one_ friend that day.

"You'll survive this, Aramis, just like you survived Savoy," Athos said, squeezing his arm. "We'll _all_ survive it in time."

Aramis sniffed, eyes still closed.

They remained there all night, refusing to leave Aramis alone. They cried, they talked, and Aramis prayed. None of them got a single moment of sleep, and when morning came, they sent a message to the queen before making themselves presentable and heading for the palace.

Queen Anne had them shown to her private sitting room, and when they walked in the door, she ran into Aramis' arms without hesitation, sobbing.

Aramis held her tightly, unable to hold his own tears back.

The other three stood there quietly watching.

"His funeral will rival Louis'," she finally said...and it did.

Two days later, the four musketeers escorted the queen to the church, but before they walked inside, Athos took Aramis' arm and gave it a squeeze. "If he had to do it again, he would," Athos said. "For the dauphin, for France, and for _us._ "

Aramis nodded, blinking back tears as they headed inside.

THE END


	19. At a Loss

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 **At a Loss  
** A Musketeer story by Deana  
Takes place early in season 1

*****This is simply a repost of what I posted on Saturday, to see if an author alert is sent this time! I don't want my subscribed readers to miss it, lol!*****

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"Aramis?"

"Mmm..."

"Aramis?"

A rocking motion filled Aramis' senses, and he realized that someone was shaking him. "Mmm," seemed to be the only thing he could say.

"Open your eyes," he suddenly heard. "You've been out long enough."

"Out where?" Aramis mumbled.

"Out _cold_ ," the voice continued. "As in 'unconscious'."

Aramis finally seemed to gain some cognizance at those words, and he opened his eyes to find himself lying on his right side in an alley with d'Artagnan sitting cross-legged in front of his face.

" _Finally_ ," d'Artagnan said, with a relieved sigh.

Aramis lifted a hand to his head with a wince. "What happened?"

"You fell."

"From where?"

"Well, you were pushed, really," said d'Artagnan. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

D'Artagnan blinked. "Remember what _happened_ to you."

Aramis tried to think, but his head hurt too much. "I have no idea," he said, wincing and closing his eyes again.

D'Artagnan sighed nervously, putting a hand on Aramis' arm and squeezing it gently. "All right, just keep still." He was quiet as he watched Aramis deal with the pain, and he was relieved when his injured friend relaxed a little a few minutes later. "You all right?"

"I think so," said Aramis, rubbing his forehead.

"Do you remember now?"

"No," Aramis answered.

D'Artagnan sighed again. "We were chasing a thief, but when we realized that he was heading for the Court of Miracles and had only stolen food, we chose to let him go. Before we had a chance to turn around, someone jumped out of an alley and violently pushed you, not knowing that we'd given up the chase. You fell and hit your head...there's a bleeding lump on the back."

Aramis sighed, before noticing that d'Artagnan was holding a cloth to the black of his skull. "I don't remember _any_ of that."

D'Artagnan shook his head, knowing that he'd _never_ forget the sound of his friend's head striking the ground. He suddenly realized that Aramis' eyes were still shut. "Can you open your eyes?"

It took a few seconds, but Aramis finally did.

D'Artagnan smiled. "There you are."

Aramis smiled slightly in response before it faded away. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Still near the Court," d'Artagnan told him.

"And where's that?" Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan frowned. "What? Paris, where else?"

"We're in Paris?"

A stab of dread filled d'Artagnan's stomach. "Of course we are. You've forgotten Paris?!"

Aramis said nothing for a moment as he tried to think. "I…seem to be at a loss regarding some things."

" _Please_ tell me you know your name!" d'Artagnan nervously asked.

"Aramis."

"And mine?"

"D'Artagnan."

"Thank God," d'Artagnan said. "The names of the others?"

"Athos and Porthos."

"Well at least you still have _some_ of your mind," d'Artagnan said. "I need to get you back to the garrison. How's the pain?"

"Painful," Aramis answered.

"I'm sure it is, but that's not what I meant. Do you think you can walk?"

"I don't know," Aramis told him, truthfully.

D'Artagnan removed the handkerchief from the back of his friend's head, seeing that the wound was still bleeding, though not as badly. "I'll wrap your head once we reach the horses. Come on; let's see if you can sit up." With that, he shifted behind Aramis and carefully turned him onto his back—careful not to let his head touch the ground—and pulled him upright, kneeling beside him with an arm around his shoulders.

The world seemed to spin in a circle around Aramis, and he closed his eyes with a groan, lowering his head.

"Take it easy, I have you," d'Artagnan said, tightening his hold.

Aramis gasped when the pain in his head increased.

D'Artagnan saw his friend's face lose all remaining color. "Are you gonna be sick?"

Aramis hesitated, before saying, "No."

D'Artagnan was relieved. He let his friend rest for a minute, before pulling Aramis' right arm around his neck. "Up," he said. "You're still bleeding."

Aramis tried, but he wasn't much help as d'Artagnan pulled him to his feet. Once upright, Aramis staggered weakly and had to lean against the wall at his other side.

D'Artagnan held onto him tightly, his other arm around Aramis' waist. "I think it's safe to say that you have a concussion."

Aramis was breathing heavily, eyes closed against the pain and dizziness. His legs were wobbly and kept threatening to buckle beneath him. "No doubt," he gasped, leaning his throbbing head against the wall.

It seemed forever before Aramis finally had any confidence in trying to walk, and d'Artagnan took nearly all of his weight as they slowly made their way out of the alley and back to where they'd left the horses to follow the thief on foot.

"Where…are…we?" Aramis gasped, as they went.

D'Artagnan was surprised to be asked that again. "Near the Court of Miracles."

"Where's that?"

"In Paris," d'Artagnan said, concerned.

"No no," said Aramis, eyes closed as he relied on his friend to get him where he needed to go. "Where in Paris?"

"Between the rue du Caire and the rue Réaumur," d'Artagnan said.

"What?"

"North of Notre Dame."

"Oh."

Aramis was quiet for the rest of the walk back to their horses, except for his harsh breathing. They found the horses right where they'd left them in the care of an apple vendor, and d'Artagnan sat Aramis on the vendor's stool as he fetched bandages out of their pack of medical supplies.

Aramis' eyes were closed and the flustered vendor stood gripping his arm lest he fall off the stool.

D'Artagnan gave the man a grateful nod as he placed a piece of fabric over the bloody wound and wrapped the bandage around it, tying a knot on the side of Aramis' head.

Through it all, the injured musketeer tried not to voice his pain. He didn't always succeed.

Getting Aramis safely atop his horse might've been impossible without the vendor's help. Aramis insisted that he could ride alone, but he was off-balance and had difficulty just getting his boot into the stirrup. Once they finally had Aramis in the saddle, the vendor held him there while d'Artagnan mounted his own horse and grabbed onto Aramis' arm. He thanked the man and they slowly rode off.

It quickly became apparent that Aramis wasn't going to make it all the way to the garrison without help. He tried his best, but the pain and dizziness left him too weak to sit up straight.

D'Artagnan could see that he was quickly fading, and he stopped the horses and tightened the grip on his friend when Aramis suddenly leaned forward, his hands fisting in the horse's mane.

"D'Artagnan..." he gasped.

D'Artagnan quickly grabbed him with both hands. "Take it easy," he said. He quickly pulled his own right leg over his horse's head so he was sitting sidesaddle, before he threw his left leg over Aramis' horse to sit behind him. He wrapped an arm around his friend to keep him upright, and gently tugged him backwards. "Lean back," he said.

Aramis did, bonelessly resting against his friend, eyes closed as he breathed heavily against the pain.

D'Artagnan grabbed the reins of both horses and slowly nudged them forward.

"Thank you," Aramis suddenly whispered.

"No need for that," d'Artagnan said. "Just rest. I'll have you home soon."

A few minutes passed before Aramis suddenly said again, "Where are we?"

D'Artagnan inwardly sighed with worry. "In Paris."

Aramis squirmed slightly as if uncomfortable. "I'm not going...to make it," he weakly commented.

A thrill of fear shot down d'Artagnan's spine. "What?! Of _course_ you are!"

"Forgive me," Aramis said, his voice tight with pain. "Awake...is what I meant. Definitely...concussed."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I know. Keep your eyes open." Even as he said it, he knew that it was impossible; the sun was shining brightly and with the awful headache that Aramis had, he'd never be able to.

"Talk to me," Aramis mumbled. "Give me something…to focus on…"

D'Artagnan tried to think of a subject to talk about, but was suddenly at a loss. "Well, we're about to reach a church. Hear the bell?"

"Mmm," was Aramis' response.

D'Artagnan looked around. "A rabbit just ran under a bush...it startled a bird. There are no clouds in the sky, unfortunately for you; I know the sun is too bright." He paused as he tried to find something else to say. "There aren't many people around; afraid of encountering anyone from The Court, most likely…"

And so, d'Artagnan kept up a steady litany of what he saw as they rode.

"Still with me, Aramis?" he asked a while later.

"Mmm."

"There are two boys playing in the street...looks like they're fighting over an apple. The bigger one got it and the smaller one started to cry."

"Poor boy."

"Oh, I spoke too soon; the big one took a bite and handed it to the younger one."

Aramis smiled at that, eyes still closed. "Good."

By the time they'd made it home, d'Artagnan had described everything to Aramis between The Court and the garrison. When they rode through the gate, Porthos and Athos materialized out of nowhere beside them, reaching up to get Aramis off the horse.

"What happened?!" Athos exclaimed.

"We were chasing a thief and someone pushed him," d'Artagnan answered as he carefully lowered their injured friend down. "He landed hard and has a concussion."

Porthos growled at that, but was relieved to see Aramis' eyes open slightly.

"I'm fine," Aramis weakly said, trying not to wince.

"We've heard _that_ before," said Athos, following Porthos as the bigger man carried Aramis towards his room.

D'Artagnan dismounted and asked the nearest musketeer to fetch a doctor before hurrying after the others. As they removed Aramis' weapons, jacket, and boots, Treville arrived and d'Artagnan repeated what had happened, mentioning Aramis' memory lapses.

Treville sighed as he sat on the side of the bed and looked Aramis over. The injured musketeer was very pale and had slipped into a half-conscious state. "Is someone fetching a doctor?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan answered.

It wasn't long before the doctor arrived and confirmed the concussion diagnosis. He cleaned and rewrapped the wound but didn't stitch it, as the swollen lump would only interfere. He gave them the same instructions that Aramis had already told them more than once, saying that he would likely recover but not to let him out of bed. He promised to return the next day and left.

Time quietly passed as they sat staring at the unconscious Aramis, until he suddenly moaned with a wince. Instantly, all four of them reached out to touch him, until Treville held up a hand to stop them. "You'll only overwhelm him," he said, before looking at Porthos, who they all knew Aramis was closest to.

Porthos put a hand on Aramis' arm. "Hey, you awake?"

Aramis moved his head slightly, turning it a little to take pressure off the bump. "Yes," he whispered.

"Can you open your eyes?" Porthos asked.

Aramis did, and the others leaned closer after that, asking him how he felt and telling him what the doctor said. Aramis wasn't surprised at all, but he couldn't keep his eyes open and asked them to let him sleep.

"We'll be waking you in an hour," Athos told him. "As per the doctor's instructions, _and_ your own teachings."

Aramis sighed, eyes already closed. "Touché," he said. "D'Artagnan? Thank you for the tour." With that, he fell asleep.

Everyone looked askance at d'Artagnan, who told them what he'd done to keep Aramis conscious.

"That's it, d'Artagnan," said Porthos. "If you're somehow never commissioned a musketeer, you can always get a job as a tour guide!"

Unexpectedly, a chuckle came from the bed.

THE END


	20. Missing Scene to S2E10

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Missing Scene for S2E10, 'Trial and Punishment'.  
A Musketeers story by Deana

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"No, Aramis, not for _him_."

Aramis was slightly surprised when Queen Anne stopped him from closing Rochefort's eyes after he finally, _finally_ died, but he didn't let his surprise show; he simply obeyed her wishes and stood. His vision turned gray once upright and lightheadedness swept over him, but he blinked his eyes and somehow managed to fight it off.

D'Artagnan saw Aramis' face suddenly go white, which wasn't unexpected; Aramis had been locked up in prison for days and had obviously gone without food or sleep. It seemed a miracle that he was still standing at all, and d'Artagnan took a step towards him but was stopped when Athos grabbed his arm. "Aramis is about to drop!" he hissed.

"Yes, he is," Athos whispered back. "But he'll keep himself together in front of the queen."

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos, who was staring at Aramis with deep concern, and whose arm was _also_ being gripped by Athos.

The queen hadn't noticed any of this, as she'd covered her face with both hands out of relief that it was all over, and turned towards Constance, who put an arm around her and led her back into her bedroom.

Constance had noticed Aramis' state and threw a look at d'Artagnan over her shoulder, one that said, 'Get him out of here'. The last thing the queen needed was to see Aramis collapse.

"I'll take care of Aramis," Athos said. "D'Artagnan, handle things here. Porthos, get rid of Vargas."

Porthos clearly didn't want to leave his ailing friend, but he obeyed and headed towards the enemy Spaniard.

The sudden activity seemed to jolt Aramis out of the concentration that was keeping him standing and he suddenly swayed, but Athos reached him before he could fall and took hold of him. "Come, Aramis, it's over," he said.

 _It's over. It's over. It's over.  
_

Those words echoed through Aramis' mind as Athos tugged him forward and out of the room. A dazed stupor overcame Aramis' brain as he continued to fight his body's urge to collapse, but it didn't take much longer for the combination of stress and lack of food and sleep to overcome him, so when his vision turned gray once more, his legs buckled.

Athos grabbed him around the waist with both arms and eased him to his knees.

Aramis' head dropped onto Athos' shoulder as his brain spun in circles.

"Aramis," said Athos, manhandling him to sit on the floor against the wall. "Aramis." He put a hand on the side of his friend's face and tilted it up, finding his eyes closed. With a sigh, he stood and quickly headed into a nearby library where he knew there was a carafe of brandy. He quickly grabbed it and hurried back out, finding that Aramis hadn't moved. He knelt beside him and placed it on the floor before lifting his friend's head up and tapping his face. "Aramis," he called again. It took a lot of tapping, but Aramis' eyes eventually fluttered weakly, and Athos held the carafe to his mouth.

Aramis wasn't aware enough at first, but the third time the brandy touch his lips, he reacted, and Athos carefully helped him drink it.

When he finished, Aramis remained motionless, eyes still closed, breathing a little too fast.

Athos wanted nothing more than to let his friend rest, but that would risk Aramis passing out again, so Athos took his friend's right arm and pulled it around his own shoulders. "Stand up," he said.

Aramis tried, but now that he'd had a taste of sleep—even though it'd been forced unconsciousness—his body wouldn't easily respond to what he tried to tell it to do.

Athos had to do most of the work, but the brandy had apparently lent Aramis some meager strength, for he somehow managed to remain standing once they were upright. Athos grasped his friend's wrist that hung around his neck, wrapped his other arm around Aramis' back, and started to walk.

Aramis' steps were shuffled and slow, and he had a wince on his face.

Athos realized that he had no idea what injuries had been inflicted on his friend inside the prison. After Aramis had escaped, they'd been too involved in their plans to even check. Aramis had appeared looking exhausted and pale, but had seemed whole.

Once outside the palace, Athos sat Aramis on the steps so he could fetch the horses, and when he pulled his friend's arm out from around his neck, Aramis sucked in a pained breath.

Athos frowned, but before he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, he noticed blood on his hands and his heart froze. "Where are you bleeding?!" he asked, wiping his hands on his pants before quickly searching his friend. He found the cut on the back of Aramis' right arm, and he winced himself when he realized that was the arm that he'd used to support Aramis' weight on. The slice was deep, and had obviously been from Rochefort's sword. "Stay here," he said, even though it was obvious that Aramis hadn't the strength to go anywhere himself anyway.

Quickly, Athos ran to the horses and brought them back, and he helped his friend mount and they rode back to the garrison.

Aramis barely made it there awake. Athos helped him down and got him upstairs to his room, where he sat him in a chair and removed his weapons belts and jacket. Aramis was already weakened by his ordeal in prison, so rather than let him continue to lose blood while waiting for a doctor, Athos quickly stitched the cut in his arm as Aramis sat slumped in a half-conscious state. Athos had to practically drag him to the bed, and once Aramis was laying in it, covered up and comfortable, Athos sighed with relief.

Once the others fulfilled their duties, they hurried back to the garrison and to Aramis' room.

"Did he collapse?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos nodded. "I imagine it'll be hours before he wakes."

"What's with the bandage?" Porthos asked as he looked Aramis over.

"Sword cut," said Athos. "Obviously from his fight with Rochefort. I stitched it, rather than wait for a doctor."

Porthos nodded. "Anymore injuries?"

"To my shock, nothing serious," Athos replied. "He is covered with bruises, but nothing else."

"I expected Rochefort to torture 'im!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos shook his head. "He couldn't let it seem that he had a personal score to settle with Aramis."

"So he beat on him but left his face unmarked so no one would know," d'Artagnan deduced.

Athos nodded.

Porthos sighed and carried a chair over to the bed before sitting down in it, leaning forward to study Aramis, who was either unconscious or deeply asleep. "He looks bad."

"Nearly a week in prison without food or sleep will do that to a man."

Porthos looked at Athos in shock. "No food?!"

"With Rochefort as his jailer? Do you doubt it?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan scrubbed a hand over his face. "Aramis slept with the queen...fathered the future king of France...and only endured a week in prison for it. I don't like how he was treated either, Porthos, but Aramis was _lucky_."

It took a few seconds for Porthos to lose the thunderous expression, but he eventually nodded with a sigh.

Fourteen hours later, Aramis was still out, having not moved an inch the entire time. It frightened the others, who had to keep reminding themselves that their friend had likely barely slept for the nights that he'd been imprisoned. His face had looked positively gray at first, but by the next morning, the sickly color had lessened some.

"He needs to eat," Porthos said to Athos.

Athos nodded. "But he also needs the rest."

Porthos sat back in his chair, nervously drumming his fingers on his knee and wishing that d'Artagnan would return quickly. He'd gone to check on Constance and update her on Aramis' condition, as they all knew that the queen would wish to know. D'Artagnan was going to bring back food, and Porthos was secretly hoping that the scent would wake Aramis.

Soon after, d'Artagnan returned with breakfast and a pot of soup, which he placed on the fire to warm.

"Constance is fine, and said that the queen is holding up well," he reported. "Apparently, the king has apologized to her and no longer believes Rochefort." He sighed with relief and plopped down in his chair. "Did he wake at all?" he asked, gesturing to Aramis.

"No," Porthos said.

"Yes," said another voice.

Everyone looked towards the bed to see Aramis' eyes open.

Porthos dove out of his chair and sat on the side of the bed. "Hey!" he said. "How you feelin'?"

Aramis weakly blinked. "Tired."

"You slept for fourteen hours," said d'Artagnan. "Can you eat?"

Aramis' stomach was so empty that it felt like there was a hole in it. "I think so," he said.

"I think we should try broth first," said Athos.

D'Artagnan dashed over to the fire and ladled just broth into a cup. He brought it back and waited as Porthos sat their friend up.

Aramis held out a shaky hand, and d'Artagnan handed it to him, keeping hold of it as Aramis slowly drank. His stomach accepted it just fine, and it wasn't long before the cup was empty.

"How long should we wait to see if it stays down before giving you more?" Porthos asked.

Aramis smiled slightly. His stomach was announcing its surprise at having something in it again, but it wasn't bad. "Not too long, I hope," he said.

Porthos smiled.

"Is everything all right?" Aramis asked.

"Seems to be; the king is apparently contrite," Athos told him.

Aramis closed his eyes with a sigh of relief.

Everyone was quiet as they watched him, and there was suddenly a quiet knock on the door before Treville poked his head inside. He saw Aramis awake and came inside. "I would've come sooner, but I only just left the palace. Are you all right, Aramis? What did Rochefort do to you?"

Aramis sighed and tried to sit up a little higher. "Not much, surprisingly. He acquainted me with his fists and withheld food, but that's all. It could've been worse."

Treville nodded. "Could've been a _lot_ worse. Rochefort will have an unmarked grave by order of the king."

"Good!" Porthos exclaimed. "That's the _least_ he deserves."

"The king wishes to see you all," Treville continued. "He is grateful for your actions in protecting his queen, and I was told to find out your condition, Aramis, to inform him of when you'd be fit to appear."

Everyone looked at Aramis.

"Tomorrow, I should think," Aramis told him. He felt too weak and shaken to deal with it today...and he wasn't looking forward to seeing the king again so soon.

Treville nodded. "I'll let him know." He looked at each of his musketeers. "I can't express how proud I am of you all for your loyalty and gallantry. You saved France, nearly at the cost of your own lives."

"As did you," said Athos.

Treville smiled before looking at Aramis. "Rest and eat." He looked at the others. "That's your task for today; keep him in bed and feed him."

Porthos nodded. "That'll be easy."

Treville smiled and left.

"I want to thank you all, also," Aramis said. "I wouldn't be alive right now if you hadn't retrieved Vargas."

Everyone smiled at him.

"You know we'd never let anything happen to you that we can prevent," Porthos said.

Aramis nodded. "I do indeed." He looked towards the soup on the fire. "That smells delicious...I don't think I need to wait any longer, you know..."

D'Artagnan took the cup with a chuckle and hurried back to the fire.

As they watched Aramis eat it a moment later, each man had to inwardly marvel at the fact that not only had they succeeded at defeating Rochefort, but that each one of them was alive and— _almost_ —well.

THE END


	21. Missing scene to 'Spoils of War'

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Missing Scene for S3E1  
By Deana

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Aramis felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. He listened to Porthos walk away, but he couldn't even move; he was too stunned.

"Four years is a long time. We learned to live without you."

 _Did Porthos really just say that to me?_

A hand suddenly touched his arm and Aramis was startled, having not heard Athos approach. He turned his head to look at him, and could see from his expression that Athos had heard their conversation.

Part of Athos was shocked that Porthos had said something so cruel to his onetime closest friend, but the other part of him wasn't very surprised. "He didn't mean that."

Aramis opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, speechless.

Athos studied Aramis' pale face and could see that he was crestfallen. Without hesitation, he pulled Aramis closer and hugged him.

Aramis returned the embrace, laying the side of his face on Athos' shoulder. "I never thought..." He stopped to swallow the lump in his throat. "Never thought that I'd lose Porthos."

Athos tightened the grip on his friend. "You _haven't_ lost him; he's angry and will come to his senses soon, I'm sure of it."

Aramis said nothing at first, not moving from the comforting position. "I missed him so much... _all_ of you." He inhaled a shuddering breath. "If he chooses not to forgive me, I won't be able to bear it."

Athos sighed. "Of us all, he had the hardest time dealing with your absence; he didn't understand as I do."

"But he moved on," Aramis whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back his emotions. "He forgot me."

Athos pulled out of the embrace to look at him, holding Aramis by his upper arms. "No, Aramis! He was miserable without you, and the hurt from you leaving eventually turned into anger and he's simply trying to punish you now."

Aramis sighed and looked away. "He's succeeding."

Athos squeezed his arms. "And we _never_ learned to live without you; _especially_ Porthos. Yes, we were forced to _carry_ _on_ because we had no choice, but you were always there in spirit."

Aramis sighed again and lowered his head. "I can't believe it's been four years," he said. "We've all changed."

"We have," Athos agreed. "But by the time this is over, I'm sure Porthos will change _again_. His anger will fade and he'll come to his senses."

Aramis looked towards the direction where Porthos had gone. "I hope so."

Athos put an arm around his friend and turned him around. "Come."

Aramis submitted to being led away, neither of them knowing that Porthos was listening from the other side of the wall. A stab of guilt filled his chest for hurting Aramis so badly, and he sighed as he walked off in the opposite direction.

THE END


	22. 2nd Version Missing Scene to S2E10

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Another missing scene to 'Trial and Punishment', season 2, episode 10.  
By Deana

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 _Rochefort is dead…Rochefort is dead…Rochefort is dead…_

Aramis was in a state of shock. The past few days had been a living hell; the king poisoned, the queen accused of his attempted murder, the truth of the dauphin's parentage becoming known, Rochefort arresting him…for _treason_.

When Aramis had found out that the queen was with child, he'd been stunned, as he'd known that the baby was his. Their night of emotional comfort and passion had literally created a consequence that could not be denied or ignored. Aramis wanted so badly to be a part of his son's life; but he'd never imagined what would become of it, or what would happen to the other people involved, like Marguerite…

Now, Marguerite was dead too.

Aramis closed his eyes, grieving for the woman who had loved him, been forced to testify against him, and died. The torment that she must've felt, to take her own life…

Someone suddenly touched his shoulder.

Aramis was startled and pulled his hand away from his eyes. He hadn't even realized that he'd been sitting that way, elbow on the table before him. He saw that Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were sitting in chairs staring at him, and he remembered where they were and why. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his hand, which was shaking.

Treville was the one who had touched him as he'd pulled a chair over and sat beside him, taking Aramis' right arm. "Try not to move," he said, as he prepared to stitch the cut from Rochefort's sword.

Aramis said nothing, but he flinched when he felt the stab of the needle.

Athos reached over and pulled Aramis' left arm towards himself so he could clean his bloody wrist. "Stop blaming yourself," he said.

Aramis looked at him. "Why? It was my fault… _everything_ that happened was my fault!"

"Did you force yourself on the queen?" Athos asked, dabbing at the cuts and bruising from the manacles.

"Of course not!" Aramis replied. _Rochefort did_ …the realization made him feel sick.

"Then the blame does not rest upon you," said Athos.

"But—" Aramis said, before flinching again at Treville's ministrations.

"Hold still," Treville said, as he continued the stitching.

Aramis took a shuddering breath. "Rochefort tried to kill her."

"But he didn't," said Porthos. "You stopped him."

That was true, but Aramis had made it there to save her with no time to spare…what if he'd been too late? He sighed heavily and watched as Athos wrapped a bandage around his wrist before moving the chair to Aramis' other side so he could treat his right wrist without disturbing Treville as he stitched.

The stab of the needle suddenly made Aramis wince again and he leaned his good arm on the table, putting his face in his hand once more. He found himself looking at d'Artagnan, who watched him with sympathy all over his face.

 _Constance_ , Aramis suddenly remembered. He groaned and closed his eyes. "How can you even _look_ at me?" he said.

His three friends glanced at each other, not sure if he meant all of them or one of them.

"Constance…she almost…" Aramis said, before stopping. He couldn't say the rest.

D'Artagnan sighed, and it took him a few seconds to find the right words. "She's a very brave woman, Aramis, and she doesn't blame you, so how can I? It was her choice to remain behind when we took the queen from the palace. What happened to her had nothing to do with you."

Aramis sighed, eyes still closed. The weight of the entire incident lay on his shoulders so heavily that he didn't even know if he could stand up from the chair. He forced himself not to wince from the pain of Treville's stitching, feeling as if he deserved it.

The others watched him silently. Aramis was always so full of life, with a cheerful demeanor that was often contagious to the people around him. It was distressing to witness the magnitude of his guilt.

Aramis suddenly wondered what was happening in the palace. How was Queen Anne dealing with what had happened? Was she in her bedchamber being comforted by her ladies in waiting, or was she with the king? Louis had signed her death warrant; Aramis wondered how he planned to make amends to her.

A bandage was suddenly being wrapped around his arm, and Aramis realized that Treville had finished. "Thank you," he said.

Treville nodded. "Anytime, Aramis," he replied, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder before standing to put the supplies away.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Treville went to answer it. A letter was handed to him, and he broke the seal and read it before walking back over to the others. "It's from Louis," he said. "Congratulating us on a job well done."

"For _once_ ," Porthos mumbled, sarcastically.

Treville shot him a glance before continuing, even though he felt the same way. "He wants to see all five of us tomorrow at the palace."

A shiver unexpectedly shot down Aramis' spine.

Treville noticed. "I know that you four have much to discuss," he said, knowing that Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan would know that he was really saying, 'talk Aramis out of his guilt'. "But make sure you get some rest tonight so you can be at your best tomorrow."

Everyone nodded, and Treville started to walk towards the door. "Oh, and Aramis?" he said, turning.

Aramis looked at him.

"Good work today; you saved the queen's life."

Despite everything else, that was true. Aramis smiled slightly.

With that, Treville left.

Aramis looked at the others, and even though he enjoyed their company, he suddenly just wanted to be alone. "I'm sorry…I'd like to lie down. I'm tired."

His three friends understood and reluctantly stood to go.

Aramis stood too. "Thank you," he said to them. "For everything." He paused, as if not able to put his feelings into words. "You all risked your lives for me."

Porthos smiled and threw an arm around Aramis' shoulders. "It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. We'll _always_ be there, you know that."

Aramis nodded. "I know."

They all walked towards the door and said goodnight to him before walking out.

"Let us know if you need anything," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis smiled slightly. As he started to close the door, it was suddenly pushed open again and Athos slipped inside alone.

"You have to let go of this guilt, Aramis, or it will destroy you," Athos urgently told him. "Believe me, _I_ know."

Aramis sighed. "That will take time."

"Don't let it take _too_ long," Athos said. "You don't want to end up like me. Just revel in the fact that the queen is safe, the dauphin is safe, and your _secret_ is a secret once more."

Aramis shakily nodded. He was right.

Athos squeezed his friend's arm. "You know where I am if you need me."

A feeling of warmth spread through Aramis; he had the truest friends a man could ever have. "Thank you."

Athos nodded and gave Aramis one of his rare smiles before leaving.

Aramis sighed and readied himself for bed, doubting that he would get any actual sleep. Just as he was about to slip under the covers, he thought he heard voices. Going back over to the door, he quietly opened it just enough to peek outside, and found all three of his friends in the hall, obviously not intending to leave him alone, even if they were right outside the door.

D'Artagnan spotted him and smiled, giving him an expression as if to say, 'what did you expect?'

Aramis couldn't stop himself from smiling back—a _real_ smile—and he opened the door all the way before heading back towards his bed.

The others came in and grabbed chairs, setting them around the bed and staring at Aramis as he made himself comfortable.

"Goodnight," said Porthos, as he plopped his feet up on the bed.

Aramis smiled again and closed his eyes; these men weren't just his friends, they were his _brothers_. "Goodnight."

THE END


	23. Tag to S3E8 'Prisoner of War'

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Tag to S3E8, 'Prisoner of War'  
A Musketeers story by Deana

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Athos walked out of Sylvie's room and leaned against the door with a sigh. She'd fallen asleep after her back had been tended, and Athos realized with a start that night had long-since fallen. He hadn't seen Aramis since they'd gotten the queen away from the angry people in the street, and he wanted to speak to him…to find out what he'd suffered at the hands of Grimaud.

Heading for Aramis' room, he raised his hand to knock, but hesitated, in case his friend was asleep. Grasping the door handle, he twisted it slowly and opened the door, sticking his head inside and finding that his friend was indeed in his bed…with Porthos sitting in a chair beside it.

Athos frowned. When they'd asked Aramis if he was all right after rescuing him, he'd said that he was fine. There was a bruise on the left side of his forehead, but he'd been mobile and alert so they'd taken him at his word…but if Porthos was sitting there watching Aramis sleep, then Aramis likely wasn't as hale as he'd claimed.

Porthos looked up as Athos approached. "How's Sylvie?" he whispered.

"The wounds aren't as bad as they seemed," Athos told him. "She'd only received five lashes by the time we arrived, and they weren't deep enough to require stitching. A friend from the refugee camp is with her now."

Porthos nodded. "Good."

Athos looked at their sleeping friend, who hadn't been woken by their whispers. "And Aramis?"

Porthos sighed. Wordlessly, he reached forward and took hold of the blanket that covered their friend and gently pulled it back.

Athos caught his breath at what he saw: both of Aramis' shoulders were reddened and there was deep bruising over his ribs.

"Look at his wrists," Porthos said.

Athos did, and saw that they both appeared swollen.

"He hung there the whole time," Porthos said. "Moments after he arrived, Grimaud hit 'im and knocked him out, and when he woke up, he was hangin' there from a post. He hung there all day before he had a chance to escape. He swung himself off and ran, but they caught him and strung 'im back up like a slab of beef." He shook his head angrily. "Then, he hung there until we arrived. Grimaud did _that_ with a pistol," he said, pointing to the bruises over Aramis' ribs. "Athos," he said, looking up at him. "Do you realize that his full weight hung from his wrists for over a day? Before he fell asleep, he told me that his hands were still numb and the pain in his shoulders was 'terrible'."

Athos could feel his anger growing so much that he clenched his fists and his nails bit into his palms. If he didn't already hate Grimaud before, he certainly hated him _now_.

"I didn't realize how hurt he was," Porthos said, sounding ashamed. "Even after we rescued him and returned to the garrison…"

 _Porthos watched as Athos went up to his office, and he turned back to the table in time to see Aramis slowly swing down from his horse. He frowned at the sight, as it was obvious that his friend was in pain. He headed over, to where Aramis was only just pulling his boot out of the stirrup. "Hey, you sure you're all right?"_

 _Aramis quickly dropped his hands from where they clutched the saddle, leaning against the horse with a wince. "I'm fine."_

 _"You don't_ _look_ _fine," Porthos told him. He took his friend's arm and led him over to the table, sitting him down. "Out with it."_

 _Aramis looked at him tiredly. "What?"_

 _"You always hide your injuries," Porthos said, crossing his arms. "I should've known."_

 _Aramis closed his eyes for a few seconds. "I'm fine…just exhausted, hungry, and sore."_

 _Porthos made a face, not sure if he should believe it. "Stay here, I'll get you somethin' from the kitchen." With that, he walked off._

 _Aramis kept his eyes closed, nearly too tired to open them. He didn't see Athos come down the stairs and rush out of the garrison to find Sylvie, and he didn't see Milady De Winter quietly slink past a moment later, going around the back of the table so he wouldn't see her._

 _"Aramis? Hey," he suddenly heard._

 _Aramis opened his eyes with effort, his eyes practically rolling before they slowly focused on his concerned friend._

 _"What's wrong with you?" Porthos asked as he put a plate on the table. "Don't lie to me. Do you have a concussion?" he asked, reaching over to move Aramis' hair so he could see the bruise on the left side of his forehead._

 _Aramis thought for a minute. His head was throbbing and he felt dizzy…though that was likely also being caused by Grimaud's pistol going off beside his right ear, which was ringing. "A mild one, perhaps."_

 _"Here," Porthos said, handing him a goblet of wine._

 _Aramis took it but nearly dropped it when his numb hand didn't grasp it correctly. He grabbed it with his other hand too, glad when Porthos didn't notice as he poured another goblet for himself._

 _The wine tasted wonderful, and Aramis had downed every drop before he could stop himself, making his head spin. The plate on the table contained bread, meat, and cheese, and he picked up a piece of bread with numb fingers and ate it quickly, knowing how foolish it was to drink wine on an empty stomach, especially when his equilibrium was already in question._

 _A moment later, Athos suddenly came bursting into the garrison, telling them that the queen was in danger._

 _Those words seemed to banish Aramis' pain and exhaustion, and they quickly followed him._

"After we saved the queen, that was the last I saw of him until he returned from the palace," Porthos told Athos.

 _Aramis slowly rode into the garrison after speaking to Treville, his heart feeling just as heavy as his exhausted body. He hadn't meant to make the minister angry, and vowed to apologize the first chance he got._

 _Porthos was sitting at the table and watched him ride towards the stable. He rose to follow, watching as Aramis remained sitting on the horse instead of getting down._

 _Eyes closed, Aramis tiredly swayed, literally falling asleep where he sat._

 _"Aramis?" Porthos said, reaching up to grab him._

 _Aramis made a sound but didn't open his eyes, letting his friend pull him down from the horse. He couldn't stop himself from wincing, and Porthos assumed that it was from the headache that he knew he had._

 _"Come on, to bed with you," Porthos said. He grabbed one of Aramis' arms to sling around his neck, but Aramis groaned, so Porthos wrapped his arm around him instead and guided him to his room, where he sat him on a chair._

 _Aramis' head hung forward, his eyes closed._

 _Porthos grabbed him by the arms and tried to see into his face. "Aramis, look at me: tell me what's wrong! Should I fetch a doctor?"_

 _Aramis didn't answer._

 _Porthos gave him a shake, which made Aramis wince. "Talk to me, Aramis; tell me what you need!"_

 _"Sleep," Aramis mumbled. Slowly, his eyes half-opened. "I rode all night...hung there the whole time...haven't slept...since..."_

 _Now it was Porthos' turn to wince. "Didn't think of that, sorry," he said. "How on earth have you been able to move your arms?!"_

 _Aramis smiled slightly. "By God's grace."_

 _Porthos sighed. "Well, you won't be movin' them for a few days after this."_

 _Aramis said nothing, unable to stay awake._

 _Porthos manhandled his friend out of his doublet and shirt, wincing at the bruises that he saw all over his friend's torso. He carefully lifted him and put him on his bed before carefully touching the bruises over his ribs to make sure none were broken._

 _Aramis flinched from the pain._

" _Sorry," Porthos said. "Think anything's broken?"_

" _No," Aramis whispered, eyes still closed._

" _Good," Porthos replied, relieved. He looked at his friend's shoulders, but knew that there was nothing he could do for them. "How do your shoulders feel?"_

" _Terrible."_

 _Porthos was surprised to get such an honest answer from Aramis, who usually downplayed his injuries. With a sigh, he gently picked up one of his friend's pale hands to examine its swollen wrist. "What about your hands?"_

" _They're numb," Aramis mumbled._

 _Porthos sighed at that and started to knead his hand, trying to get the circulation back. "Let me know if this hurts," he said._

 _Aramis didn't answer for a few seconds, before going, "Mmm," as if it had taken him that long to understand._

 _Porthos eventually switched over to his other hand, noting with relief that they both looked a little pinker than they had before._

"He's been asleep ever since," Porthos told Athos.

Athos shook his head, barely able to contain his anger. "Grimaud is going to pay for this!"

Porthos nodded. "Yes, he _is_."

Suddenly, there was the unexpected sound of someone dropping something in the hall, and it was loud enough to wake Aramis, who moved his head slightly, his eyes scrunching tighter from the pain.

Part of Athos was glad, as they had no idea when their injured friend would wake again. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis moved his head again, still wincing, his breathing faster now that he was awake.

"Aramis?"

"Hmm?" he answered.

"Can you open your eyes for a moment?" Athos asked.

Aramis mumbled something that was supposed to be an answer and his eyes remained closed.

"Then listen," Athos said. "I owe you an apology."

Porthos looked at him, confused.

"For what?" Aramis mumbled.

Athos suddenly realized that Aramis didn't know what had happened while he was at the palace. "Sylvie was whipped as punishment for those papers about the queen. I stopped them and rescued her…and Marcheaux said that it was treason to interfere with the law. I told him, 'to hell with the law', and realized later that I'd done the same thing that you did…committed treason for love."

Aramis opened his eyes slightly.

"I know how it feels now," said Athos. "And I'm sorry, Aramis; for trying to discourage you regarding the queen and your son, instead of supporting you."

Porthos looked from one to the other of them, not knowing what to say.

Aramis was so tired and groggy, that he felt like someone was literally trying to yank his consciousness out of his head, but he somehow managed to focus on Athos' words. "You were trying…to protect me," he mumbled.

Athos sighed. "Still, I didn't know what you felt—what you still feel—until now."

Aramis tried to move his hand towards him, but stopped with a wince.

Athos slid his hand under his friend's, noticing how Aramis tried to sluggishly close his numb fingers around it but mostly failed in the attempt. "Can you forgive me?"

Aramis smiled slightly, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. "Of course."

Athos smiled back, watching as Aramis' eyes slid shut.

"Sylvie…all right?" Aramis mumbled.

"Yes," Athos said. "I'll tell her that you asked after her."

Aramis nodded slightly, before saying, "Still think…strange choice."

Porthos snorted.

Athos smiled. " _Everything_ would seem strange to you in your state. Go to sleep."

Aramis smiled back before falling silent.

Both Athos and Porthos quietly watched him for a minute, before Porthos bumped Athos' arm with his fist. "I'm happy for you, for finding love," he said.

Athos nodded, before suddenly feeling Aramis' fingers attempt again to weakly squeeze his hand. Aramis must've still been awake to some degree, and that was the exhausted musketeer's way of telling Athos that he was glad too.

Athos squeezed it back gently, before saying to them both, "Thank you."

THE END


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